


Forging Bonds

by rebelrsr



Series: Bondsverse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Caning, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Magic, Paddling, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 83
Words: 260,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelrsr/pseuds/rebelrsr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a new Big Bad in Sunnydale. Will a shy witch and a renegade Slayer be able to forge a bond strong enough to help defeat it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Special thanks to Xanthe for creating the Dom/sub universe. I’ve borrowed liberally for this. If you aren’t familiar with Xanthe… Every person is born a Dominant, submissive, or switch. That means the vanilla world is pretty much missing. In my version of her society, it is common for submissives to be collared, sexually teased, or punished in public – and in the workplace. 
> 
> A/N2: To make this even more complicated, the premise behind this story is an amalgam of fic requests from the Glee_Kink_Meme (without any of the Glee). For this fic, keep in mind that everyone has a soul mate picked by Fate and with whom they share a telepathic and empathic bond. This bond can be broken with traumatic results. Those whose bond is broken are known as the Forsaken.
> 
> A/N3: This is the prequel to my fic “Broken Bonds.” The stories can be read separately but there are characters and relationships that may make more sense if you read them in order. I will link the two works once this is completed. The fic is set sometime between “Zeppo” and “Bad Girls.” I’ve pretty much wadded up all of S3 and randomly torn out people, places, and events for my own nefarious purpose.

“Are you going tonight?” Trish asked. She dropped into the chair next to Tara with a tired sigh. “It’s supposed to be _the_ event of the year. The Council’s bringing some heavy hitters from around the world to rub elbows with the simple denizens of Sunnydale.”

Tara kept her eyes on her textbook. Of course she wasn’t going, and Trish knew that. Tara hated parties. Actually saying she wouldn’t go, however, would cause Trish to poke and prod about why. Smart money was on remaining silent and pretending to study. Too bad the chapter on the foundation of the American novel didn’t hold her attention. Her mind wandered. What would it be like to feel free enough, confident enough, to go to the Slayers Council meet and greet?  
  
“Tara?” As expected, Trish hadn’t given up.  
  
With a sigh, Tara closed her book and glanced up through the protective curtain of her hair. “I’m not g-going.”  
  
Trish rolled her eyes. “I knew you were going to say that.”  
  
“Then why did you ask?” Keeping the exasperation from her voice was a struggle. Tara managed only because getting mad at Trish was useless. Trish would only smile and go right back to trying to arrange Tara’s social life. “I haven’t gone to a single one of your parties in six months.”  
  
“I live in hope you will one day wake up and see the sexy subs in front of you,” Trish intoned. “And Maxie insists I should be a better friend and get you out of your dorm room. This is the only thing I could come up with. UC Sunnydale isn’t at the top of the social charts, Tar.”  
  
Maxie. Perfect. Tara changed the subject. “How is Maxie? I haven’t seen her for a few days.”  
  
Anything related to Maxie was like waving a bone in front of a hungry dog. “She’s amazing,” Trish breathed reverently. Her eyes took on a thousand-yard stare. “Did you see her last week when she picked me up for our date? The dress...Wow. I mean, wow, Tara. She was so beautiful I forgot how to breathe.”  
  
Tara shook her head and smiled fondly. “She could be in sweaty gym clothes and smelly socks and you’d forget how to breathe. She’s your bondmate, sweetie.”  
  
“That’s right, Tar. All that beauty and it’s mine.” With an ostentatious flourish of her left wrist, Trish showed off her heavy stainless steel cuff. “Which is why you need to go to the Council bash tonight. You need to get one of these - and your own collared beauty.” She wiggled impatiently in the chair. “Come on. It’s one night. Come with us for a few hours. If you hate it, Maxie and I’ll bring you home.”  
  
“No,” Tara repeated, wishing her refusal sounded firmer. Trish always made socializing sound fun and exciting. And Tara was tired of being alone. Most people were bonded by now, and those that weren’t had started looking for alternatives.  
  
Trish had a sixth sense when it came to Tara’s emotions. She hopped out of her chair and dropped to her knees in front of Tara. “Please?” she begged.  
  
“Did Maxie show you how to do that?” Tara stalled for time. She needed to find her backbone or Trish would be helping her pick out clothes for the party.  Unfortunately, Trish didn’t take the bait. Tara could _feel_ people staring as they walked by and flushed in embarrassment. “Get up,” she ordered.  
  
“Nope. You’ll have to do better than that.” Remaining on her knees, Trish upped the ante. She leaned forward and placed her hands on Tara’s knees. “Did you know I make Maxie wheedle for permission to go down on me? She’s really good at it.” It wasn’t clear which activity Trish meant. “I know all the tricks, and I’ll use each one until you say yes.”  
  
Goddess, she was relentless. Tired of the constant invitations, Tara caved. “Fine. I’ll go. But for just a little while, Trish,” she added when Trish hopped up and began dancing around the tiny table. “Please stop. After your show of begging, people will think I made you dance for me.”  
  
“Ooh! Good. Do you want that with or without clothes?” Trish was giddy with success and Tara had to laugh.  
  
“Get out of here. If I’m going out tonight,” Tara tried not to wince, “I have studying to do.”  
  
Trish sobered. “I’m glad you’re going, Tara. Maxie and I are worried about you.” Bestowing a quick hug, she gave Tara a final smile. “We’ll pick you up at seven. Wear your best duds and be ready to have a good time.”  
  
A good time. Tara closed her eyes and sighed. Right.

***

The Council had rented out the clubhouse at the Sunnydale Country Club for the dance. Tara watched the cars ahead of them inch closer to the valet stand. She should have stayed at home.  
  
“I used the child safety locks on the doors. You can’t jump out and run away, Tara.” Trish didn’t even glance into the back seat as she spoke.  
  
Maxie did, though. She turned within the confines of her seat belt and gave Tara a sympathetic look. “It won’t be that bad, I promise. I went to one of these in Charleston a few years ago. The Watchers can be really formal and uptight. The Slayers and Witches are normal.” She paused and tilted her head. “Well, sort of normal. Running around in the middle of the night killing the undead is a little odd.”  
  
Tara sat up a little straighter. Witches. How could she have forgotten that most Witches gravitated toward the Slayers Council? It was really the only legitimate way to use magic.  By the time Trish stopped the car and got out, Tara felt slightly more positive about the evening. Talking with other Witches wouldn’t be so bad.  
  
The valet helped her out of the car when it was apparent Trish had eyes (and hands) only for Maxie. “Thank you,” Tara told the uniformed teenager. He blushed and ducked his head, and she caught a glimpse of a black leather cuff on his right wrist. Bonded but not yet collared. Tara turned her eyes away, a little of her enthusiasm slipping away as his marker reminded her again of her solo status.  
  
“Isn’t this amazing?” Maxie beamed as they entered the two-story grand entrance to the clubhouse. Several groups of people milled around the large space while others streamed through a set of double doors at the far end. “The one in Charleston was bigger, but the Council goes all out for these no matter where they are.”  
  
Maxie was correct. The scene had an old-world charm. Although most of the guests were in business casual, there were others in tuxedos and ball gowns. Trailing behind Maxie and Trish, Tara nodded to a few of the guests who smiled a welcome her way. She relaxed a little with each smile. No one had given her hemp skirt and combat boots a second glance.  
  
The crowd was much larger in the clubhouse meeting space. Tuxedos and gowns were outnumbered three to one by slacks and jeans. “See anything you like?” Trish didn’t even have the grace to move close and lower her voice. She shouted her question over the hum of voices and the strains of a string quartet.  
  
“The table decorations are very nice,” Tara answered with mock sincerity. She ignored Trish’s rolling eyes and Maxie’s giggle at her response. She wasn’t here to pick up a submissive. She wouldn’t mind talking about magic, though. Scanning the crowd with more purpose, Tara realized Trish knew her parties. There were some very good-looking women here. Slayers, from their physique and predatory gates. Not even heels and dresses hid their vocation.  
  
She was _not looking_ for a sub. Besides, Tara might wear her cuff on the left but she didn’t think any of the Slayers would bend knee at her command. Some of them were submissives; sleeveless dresses did little to hide dynamic markers. Despite their submissive status, though, they all had a striking air of self confidence and power. Shy witches wouldn’t stand a chance of Dominating them. Taking a few more steps into the room, Tara eyed a much less physically impressive group of brightly-clad men and women. None of them appeared out of place for a party. The hippy quotient was simply higher than in any other area in the room.  
  
That’s when a red-haired blur tackled Tara to the floor. “Oh, hey. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you all right? You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” The woman scrambled up and held out her hand. “Do you need a doctor? We have several here tonight.”  
  
The rush of words dazed Tara more than the fall.  
  
“You are hurt. Oh, Goddess. Hang on; I’ll be right back.” The girl sprinted off leaving Tara sprawled on the floor.  
  
Slowly, Tara sat up. She was going to have bruises in the morning, but she was fine. Which she would have told the other woman if she’d stuck around. Climbing to her feet, she brushed off her clothes. “And I thought the party would be boring,” she muttered.

“Please do not let any of the children hear you say that,” a man said behind her. “They already believe this affair is an attempt to torture them.”

Tara spun with a gasp of fright and almost found herself on the floor for the second time that evening as she stumbled over her own feet.

The man lunged forward and caught her under the elbows. “My dear, are you alright?”

It was too similar to the redheaded woman’s question. This was crazy. Tara giggled and the man smiled in confusion. He apparently didn’t think clumsy women were amusing. “I’m fine. Really. You just startled me.”

“Rupert Giles.” He took Tara’s hand and bowed over it. “Welcome to the Slayers Council Winter Social. Since we have established your good health, would you like me to introduce you around? I must admit I know rather a lot of people.” Rupert’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses

“Um…” Tara’s eyes darted frantically around the room. “I came with friends.” Only she didn’t see either Trish or Maxie anywhere. Why had she agreed to come tonight?

Straightening, Rupert scanned the room as well, perhaps sensing her unease. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m sorry, Mr. Giles.” Mentally shaking herself, Tara placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “My name is Tara Maclay, and I’d be honored if you’d escort me around the party.” She tilted her head in his direction. “As long as your Dominant doesn’t mind,” she said.

His free hand reached up to brush the collar showing above the sharp points of his tuxedo shirt. “My dear Lady Lydia is quite aware of my habit for finding beautiful young Dominants and luring them into danger with my irrepressible charm.”

Tara giggled. Rupert was funny – and charming, as he’d mentioned. “You don’t mind if I ask to meet Lady Lydia first then?” Better safe than sorry when swanning around the room with someone else’s submissive. “I’m curious. You mentioned danger. No one said I might be risking life and limb to attend.” Then again, she _had_ been knocked to the floor already.  
  
Rupert’s laugh turned heads. “The Council has few dull moments. Not all of them are demon related, Miss Maclay. We are, after all, an organization dedicated to Slayers. They are daring young women with truly amazing skills - and a penchant for mischief.” Leading her around the tables, Rupert set a course for a small group conversing near the overloaded buffet table.  
  
Eyes wide, Tara noticed each of them had plates so stuffed with food that a stray breath might blow the contents onto the floor.  
  
“Good evening, ladies - and Xander.” Rupert didn’t bow as they approached the group. He merely stopped and waved at Tara with a flourish. “This is Tara Maclay. She challenged me to prove the party was not as dull as she believes. May I trust in your assistance?”  
  
“You need more than our help, Giles.” The only man in the group (Tara assumed he was Xander) winked at her. “Even zombies are livelier. Remember last week at Chez Summers? Those guys knew how to dance...and shed the occasional body part, too. Do you see any of that going on here?”  
  
Rupert’s sigh was pained. “Ignore him, Tara, please. Xander has always been a thorn in my side, forever ruining my attempts at a sober and serious conversation. It is my honor to introduce you to some of our guest Slayers this evening. Raquel Saenz from Mexico City. Jennifer Reynolds from Green Bay. And Elspeth Davies from Swansea, England.” Leaning close to Tara, he whispered conspiratorially, “Ellie is my favorite, but you cannot tell the others.”  
  
The Slayers all burst into laughter. “I’m the favorite of the moment because I brought an entire suitcase of Bovril.” Elspeth held out her hand to Tara. “As soon as he drinks it all, he’ll forget he even met me.”  
  
Tara noticed the calluses on Elspeth’s palm as she took the other girl’s hand. “I don’t know. Mr. Giles seems like a very nice man. He’d remember your name, at least.” Then her better nature took over. “I’m sorry, Mr. Giles. That was rude,” she told him softly, glancing quickly up at him. Her face grew warm, and she ducked behind her hair.  
  
“It’s of no concern, my dear. Really. This lot are exceedingly brash and outspoken. I am used to their teasing and the numerous slurs on my character.” Rupert’s smirk indicated he might actually enjoy them. “Now, there are many more people for you to meet. Including my Lady Lydia. I relish the thought of you inquiring about her feelings regarding my escort duties.”

Before he had a chance to resume their trek through the room, another tuxedo-clad man hurried to Giles. They shared an intense, whispered conversation while everyone pretended not to watch.

“I apologize, Tara.” Giles’ previous levity was conspicuously absent. “Remember our conversation regarding mischief? I fear I cursed the evening and must now deal with a developing situation. However, I do not leave you to fend for yourself. I will summon…”  
  
“Giles, I love you like a brother,” Xander interrupted, causing Rupert to wince. “Tara needs to stay here with us. We’re more her speed. I promise we’ll do the introductions - only we’ll pick all the interesting people.” He didn’t back down at Rupert’s glare. “We got this; trust me.”  
  
Glare fading, Rupert nodded. “Very well, Xander. I will allow you to take over my escort duties. However,” and he pointed a finger at Xander, “you will not lead Tara astray. One incident this evening is all I am willing to handle.” Expectations complete, Rupert bowed once more to Tara. “It has been a pleasure, Ms. Maclay. Please let me know if there is any other service I might provide.”  
  
As he walked away, Elspeth muttered, “I’m English, and he’s too stuffy for me. All those big words make my head hurt.”  
  
“So, Tara, now that you’re hanging with us...” Xander wrapped an arm around Tara and spun her back toward the tables and chairs. “Who would you like to meet first? Over there,” he pointed to a large contingent of older men and women in formalwear, “are the rest of the Giles clones. Not all of them have accents, but they do share a thing for Tweed.”

Tara had liked Giles. She wouldn’t mind talking to others like him. She didn’t say anything, though because Xander had already turned a little to the right. “Or more Slayers. Other little Ellies and  Raquels from around the world.” As he pointed out a cluster of young women dining at tables across the room, one of them glanced up. Xander stiffened. “Or my personal favorite, the Witchy Crew. I say that not because I like being accidentally turned into the man all women in Sunnydale want. No. Really. It was horrible.” He mock shuddered. “I say they are my favorite because my very best friend is a witch.”

Definitely the witches. However, Tara didn’t want to impose on Xander. He’d been enjoying the party with his Slayer friends before Mr. Giles had brought Tara over. “Thank you, Xander. I can find my way there.”

His eyes grew wide and his shoulders slumped.

Tara braced for impact. She’d seen Maxie try the same trick with Trish, and _she_ wasn’t going to get sucked in by the act.

Xander’s chin dipped. “Please, Tara?” Peering up at her through his lashes, he said in a pathetic plea, “You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble because I didn’t take care of you the way I promised, right?”

No wonder Trish gave in every time Maxie did this. Tara glanced away from Xander. Took several deep breaths. Rocked back and forth on her toes. And the whole time, she could feel his eyes watching her. “Xander.” Why was her voice so weak?

Jennifer chuckled. “Be strong, Tara. Don’t give the rest of us Dommes a bad name. If you give in to him, he’ll expect all of us to do it.”

Was she implying people managed to ignore Xander’s expression? If so, then it must be possible. Tara squared her shoulders and gripped her resolve. “Xander, I don’t need an escort,” she said firmly. See? She could do this.

Then she made the mistake of bringing her attention back to Xander. His eyes were so soft. And Tara hated to see the defeated slump in his posture; it made her want to pull him into her arms and take care of him.

She barely heard Jennifer mutter, “Well, she almost won. I’ll have to let everyone know Buffy’s the only one he can’t beat.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t look like that.” Tara patted Xander’s arm and watched his eyes grow the slightest bit more hopeful. There. That was better, but…not good enough. “If it’s so important to you, of course you can introduce me to your friend.”


	2. Chapter 2

Slouching in her chair, Faith glowered at the bare wall behind Giles’ desk. How the Hell had the Council goons found her? She’d hitched a ride nearly to Los Angeles, and the bar she’d found wouldn’t have gotten Giles’ approval (or the Health Department’s). Remembering the scene they’d created dragging her out... Faith’s scowl deepened. She was sick of this shit. Maybe it was time to find another city. Sunnydale was too small. And it already had a Slayer, the Council’s Golden Girl, Buffy Summers.

Los Angeles was way bigger. There was actually a Council HQ there, along with a team of Slayers. It would be easier to get lost there. Give the Watchers a slip. Giles was too smart, and he managed to be one step ahead of her most of the time. He wasn’t even her Watcher. 

Her Watcher was dead.

Faith’s slouch turned into a noticeable slump. It was a good thing Giles wasn’t her Watcher. He might be an uptight pain in the ass, but Faith didn’t want anything to happen to him. Not like what had happened to Diana.

_“You should enjoy this, Slayer. I know I will.” Kakistos smiled and his fangs gleamed._

_Faith wanted to scream at him but no sound emerged when she opened her mouth. As she stood there, legs somehow trembling and unmoving at the same time, he turned to where Diana hung from the ceiling. His knife carved intricate patterns in her skin while Diana screamed. Faith’s eyes closed and then immediately reopened. The screams were even worse when paired with her imagination rather than reality._

_Drops of blood turned into a puddle. There were so many cuts on Diana that she was barely recognizable. Only her voice, now hoarse and broken from screaming, and her eyes seemed familiar._

Jumping from her chair, Faith fled the memories in long strides back and forth across the office. She had to get out of here. The door wasn’t an option. There were two Retrieval Team members standing guard in the hallway. They couldn’t take Faith in a fight, but _she_ couldn’t win against their tranquilizer guns. She changed course and hurried to the bank of windows on the far wall.

Damn it! Giles’ office was on the third floor. There was only a small overhang and a complete lack of useful foliage. Slayer healing wouldn’t repair shattered bone fast enough for her to make her escape. She was trapped. Her pacing resumed at a more frantic pace. If Giles didn’t get here soon, she’d risk taking on the goons in the hall. Her thoughts summoned him. The door opened crisply, and Faith spun. “What the...”

“Be silent.” Giles’ crisp English accent gave his command more weight. Faith’s hands clenched as she pressed her lips together. “I cannot believe tonight’s report. Did we not have this same conversation earlier in the week?”

Instead of answering, Faith dropped into a chair and fixed her eyes on the shiny “Rupert Giles, Watcher” nameplate on Giles’ desk. The room grew silent, and the weight of Giles stare settled on Faith’s shoulder. She struggled against the sudden need to apologize. She’d done nothing wrong. The Council was too uptight.

Giles didn’t break. He pulled another chair close to Faith and sat down. Waiting.

“It was one drink.” Faith extended her feet and crossed her legs at the ankles. “One fucking drink.” She would have had a lot more if the Retrieval Team hadn’t shown up.

“I should not have to point out that you are underage.” Clothes rustled as Giles leaned forward. “I know things have been difficult lately, my dear. Had you come to me, perhaps we could have found a more acceptable way for you to deal with recent events and to enjoy an evening on the town. What would have happened if someone in that bar had attacked you?”

Please. “I’m a Slayer, G-man.” Faith enjoyed a brief flare of amusement at his grimace. “If anyone in the bar’d attacked me, they’d have been on the ground in seconds.” Giles knew that. He was simply worried about the Council’s reputation. He’d already lectured her on maintaining a “proper” decorum. 

“That isn’t the point, Faith, and you are well aware of that.” He sighed and took off his glasses. Without the shielding lenses, Giles appeared tired. “Your sparring skills,” Faith knew he meant _brawling_ skills, “have never been in doubt. Your Watcher accounts were very complimentary in that regard. Accidents do happen, however. And human adversaries rarely follow the same traditions as demonic ones. Not even your Slayer abilities would defeat a bullet.”

He peered short-shortsightedly at her, and Faith shifted uncomfortably. Giles’ gaze was so kind. So concerned. She’d given him nothing but trouble from the minute she’d arrived in Sunnydale, and he still seemed to care. Faith wasn’t used to that. She didn’t understand it. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess... I guess I didn’t think of that.” Faith wasn’t big on thinking. She was more comfortable with action. “What happens now?” Her latest escapade involved the Retrieval Team - and that made her screw up official. Giles wouldn’t be able to hide it from the Council.

“I don’t know.” Faith might have hugged him for the lie if she did that sort of thing. “Quentin has already scheduled a call first thing in the morning to discuss options.”

Quentin, the Senior Watcher on the Council. Faith’s stomach did a slow roll. “It’s going to be... I mean...” she couldn’t even say the words “Judicial Punishment.” There were three in her file already. Another one... Faith closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, praying she wouldn’t puke.

“As I said, I do not know what Quentin will decide. I will recommend a period of house arrest with additional training in Slayer Comportment.” Faith heard Giles stand up and reopened her eyes. “Please consider speaking with one of the Council psychologists, Faith.” He must have noticed her stony expression because he nodded slightly. “We are all here to help you, Faith. If you do not wish to use official resources, I would be happy to offer my services. And Buffy has already spoken to me about acting as your mentor.” 

Why would they do that? Faith gazed back at Giles in confusion, unable to put her questions into words.

Giles walked over and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Faith…”

“Don’t touch me!” Faith reacted instantly. Slapping his hand away, she stood, putting her back to the desk and eyeing Giles warily.

He stepped back and held up both hands. “My apologies.” Was that a hint of hurt in his voice?

Even though Faith regretted insulting Giles, she didn’t respond. Her hands reached back and gripped the edge of the desk. She struggled to slow her breathing and hide the way her muscles jumped and twitched in reaction to the adrenaline rushing through her body.

“There is nothing more to be done tonight.” Giles was all business now. Faith dropped her eyes so she wouldn’t have to witness the loss of compassion in his gaze. She hadn’t done anything to earn it anyway. “With your activities this evening a matter for the Council, I propose we do a spot of public relations campaigning. You will return to your quarters, change into your best outfit, and return to the Winter Social with me. You wanted a night away from the House,” he said with grim humor. “You shall have one. And if your behavior is sterling enough, I may yet talk Quentin out of serious consequences.”

Faith laughed. Giles must be drunk. “You think taking me to a party is going to help with that? Are there people at this party?” Unless it was a party of two – and Faith didn’t think Lydia would let Giles even _think_ about that – having Faith attend would be a nightmare. She managed to insult or irritate everyone she met without even trying.

“The other option is for you to actively participate in an emergency session with a Council psychologist tonight,” Giles said firmly.

Actively participate. Faith didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”  Pushing away from the desk, Faith walked out of the office without once glancing at Giles. He’d won this round. Playing nice with the rest of the Council bigwigs and townies would suck, but Faith wasn’t spilling her guts to a shrink.

The Retrieval Team officers followed her to the bedroom assigned to Faith in the Council’s Sunnydale facility, a large three-story house near the university. Faith ignored them. She did leave the door open in invitation, though, as she changed into her best pair of tight black leather pants and matching vest. A quick touch up on the kohl around her eyes and a hair fluff completed Faith’s preparation.

The whole process took minutes, and Faith beat Giles to the chauffeured car waiting outside the house.

***

The party tested Faith’s resolve. It was lame. She hugged the back wall of the large room and thought longingly of the Jack and Coke she’d almost drank at the bar earlier. A good buzz _might_ make the rest of the night tolerable.

Unfortunately, Giles had stationed himself nearby, and there were probably photo warnings of her at the bar. Faith wasn’t getting anything alcoholic here.

“I like the look.” Somehow, Buffy had snuck up on Faith. “The brooding loner, propping up the wall. Are you _trying_ to attract a Dominant for the night? Or was this your latest attempt to scare us all away with your laser-like glare?”

“Must be the first, right? ‘Cause you’re here and not stumbling for the door in them stupid heels, B.” Not that scaring Buffy had been a possibility. It had taken only a single sparring session to show Faith why her original Watcher had sung Buffy’s praises. Buffy was wicked fast and far better trained. “You lookin’ for something with more curves than the X-Man?”

She’d pushed too hard. Faith knew it the second she’d brought Xander into the conversation. Buffy moved so fast Faith didn’t see her coming. A forearm to her throat held Faith pinned to the wall. “I’m trying very hard to remember why I like you. It’s like you can’t help yourself. One minute you’re normal. Just another Slayer to hang out with, another sister in arms. And the next you’re some bitch in heat I want to smack down.” Buffy pressed close, her eyes blazing with fury and enough Dominance to make Faith squirm. “Don’t make me smack you, Faith. You won’t enjoy what happens.”

Faith nodded as best she could. And the meek, clearly cowed, “Yes, Ma’am,” that snuck out in response humiliated Faith. She wasn’t afraid of Buffy, even if Buffy _did_ wear her marker on the left.

Buffy peered into Faith’s eyes for a long, tense moment. “Jesus, you make me mad sometimes.” Releasing Faith, she took a few steps back and straightened the hem of her skirt. “If you can stop glowering, Willow needs our help. She babbled something about a woman on the floor and needing a doctor. Only I think Will lost her. I couldn’t really understand. I promised to help, though. She was pretty upset.”

It was difficult to ignore the ache in her throat without rubbing it. However, Faith wouldn’t give Buffy the satisfaction of knowing she’d hurt her. “Sure. How we gonna know we found the right woman, though? If she ain’t on the floor, she could be any of the women here.”

“Um, we’ll know her when we see her?” Buffy shrugged and rolled her eyes. “We could ask all the women if they want to file charges against a crazy red-haired menace.” All her previous aggression faded into a gamin grin. “Want to bet Will won’t want Janna to know about this latest accident?”

“And you called me a bitch. That’s plain mean, B.” Mean and funny. Faith waved to Giles and got his nod of approval before following Buffy as she wended her way through the crowd. There was no one lying on the floor, and no one stopped them to complain about being knocked over. However, Willow’s red hair created a beacon for them to follow.

They finally ran her to ground after three tips around the large party room. “I don’t understand, Buffy. She was right over there. I was going to ask Janna if she would dance with me and we ran into each other.”

Faith figured the truth was probably closer to Willow mowing the missing woman down. Willow traveled at only one speed: supersonic. “What’d she look like, Red?”

“Well, there wasn’t any blood. I didn’t hit her that hard. She just fell over,” Willow answered defensively.

“I don’t think that’s what Faith meant.” Buffy took Willow’s hand. “Calm down. We’ve been trying to find this woman for you. It would help if we know what she looked like. Was she tall? Heavy? What color was her hair? What was she wearing?” Proving she’d been a long-time friend, Buffy did a decent impression of Willow-babble as she spewed out questions.

Willow apparently only _spoke_ Willow-babble. She stared at Buffy blankly until she managed to unravel what Buffy wanted to know. “Oh! She was blonde and young. Maybe our age. And she had this really cool, retro-60s style skirt.”

That actually helped. Faith scanned the people in the room. Most of them were old. She started sorting out all of the blondes. Too old. Wearing jeans. Slayer. Slayer. Watcher.

When Faith spotted a woman fitting Willow’s description, she grinned. Willow had some serious buzzard luck. “Hey, Red, is that her?” Pulling Willow in front of her and pointing across the room, Faith said, “There. The woman with Xander and your Gypsy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Xander hadn’t gloated over his easy victory. He simply set his plate down and whisked Tara toward the group of witches. “Is this your first Slayer Social? I don’t remember you from last year’s Summer Soiree. And if you’d met Willow, she would have never stuck you with Giles this time round.”  
  
Poor Mr. Giles got very little respect. “No, this is my first Council event. My friend invited me.” Invited. Dragged. They were separated only by semantics.   
  
“Why didn’t you say you had a friend?” Xander’s wink was so overdone, Tara couldn’t take offense. “I would be the envy of every man here with a witch on each arm.” He carefully skirted an older man who staggered by reeking of alcohol. “Whew! I’m feeling a little tipsy after breathing that in. How about you?”  
  
Tara didn’t say anything. They’d nearly reached the witches and she regretted asking for the introduction. Months of avoiding anyone or anything connected with magic… Why break her own rules now? Her footsteps lagged until she followed Xander like a submissive on a leash.   
  
He didn’t notice her sudden reticence. “Hey, Janna! I have someone I want you to meet. This is Tara,” he announced as if Tara were someone very important. “She was Giles’ special guest until he got pulled away.” Puffing his chest out, Xander continued. “He asked me to be Tara’s escort in his place. I’m escort-worthy.”  
  
Janna’s expression went completely blank; although her lips twitched for a moment. “I’m sure you are, Xander. Escort-worthy.”   
  
Posture deflating some, Xander peered at Janna in confusion.   
  
“He’s been the perfect gentleman,” Tara defended him. Although, she, too had a hard time not giggling at his obviously unintended double entendre. Placing a hand on his arm, she told him softly, “I appreciate your help, Xander,” and enjoyed his flush of pride at her praise. Duty to Xander complete, Tara fell silent.   
  
The silence didn’t last long. “Most guests don’t request an introduction to us. Slayers are far more exciting. And, well, good looking.” Janna tilted her head and regarded Tara curiously. “Are you a witch? You seem familiar.”  
  
She shouldn’t. Tara had avoided both the Wicca groups on campus and the Council’s bi-weekly coven gathering. Those would be the first places her father would search. Why had she come tonight? And why in the world had she thought meeting Janna and her coven was a good plan? “My m-mother was a witch,” Tara said. It was too late to leave now. “She taught me a little of the Craft. I haven’t pr-practiced much since move...moving here,” she admitted   
  
“That’s it!” Snapping her fingers, Janna celebrated whatever she’d remembered. “You were in the park last Saturday morning.”

Tara’s eyes went wide in dismay. Janna hadn’t... _when_ had Janna… “Oh?” she choked out. Normally Tara worried about blushing. At this particular moment, she wondered if there was a drop of blood anywhere in her head.  “Wh-what were you doing th-there so early?” She hadn’t stuttered this much since leaving home.

“We’d been out on patrol and took a shortcut through the park. It’s common knowledge that Slayers have a tremendous appetite after Slaying. What isn’t taught in Basic Slayer classes is how my sub suffers the same Terrible Hunger after a night traipsing through cemeteries.” Janna shook her head. “I’ve never understood it. Willow insisted we visit that little doughnut place on Fairfield, and I decided to indulge her.”

“Oh. They have the best doughnuts in town,” Xander interrupted. “Especially the jelly-filled ones.” He leaned close to Tara and whispered in her ear. “If there’s only one left in the box and you’re at a research party with Giles, don’t take it. He can get scary when he uses big words.”

The scenario was highly doubtful. Tara thought Giles seemed more the scones and tea type.

“And yet I seem to remember you eating the last jelly doughnut on multiple occasions, Xander.” Janna teased.

“Brave as well as gallant,” Tara murmured. She enjoyed the way Xander lit up at the compliments. “I should have asked sooner. Are you a witch, sweetie? Or a Watcher?” He seemed young for that, but surely Watchers went through a training program. Maybe Xander was still learning.

“No magic for me. Well, unless Will uses me for her guinea pig. Which she doesn’t do anymore. Ever,” Xander rushed to add as he regarded Janna earnestly. “She learned her lesson. We all did.”

Was this the spell he’d mentioned before? Had Willow turned him into the man all women wanted by _accident_? Goddess, how powerful was his friend? And Janna was her Dominant? She shivered and disguised it by fussing with the long sleeves of her blouse. “You’re a Watcher,” she said.

“Nope.” Xander turned away from Janna and shook his head. “Boring human. Willow and I got caught up in the whole Slayer thing when Buffy first came to Sunnydale. It’s amazing how nearly getting eaten by a horde of crazy vampires will change your life.”

“Not boring at all, Xan.” Janna tapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Don’t let him fool you, Tara. He’s an integral part of the team; although he plays the fool well.” At her comment, Xander met Tara’s eyes, shrugged, and gave a goofy grin.

Tara smiled back. “I’m not fooled. Mr. Giles wouldn’t have allowed Xander to escort me if he didn’t trust him.”

“Now that we’ve embarrassed Xander completely, why don’t I introduce you to the rest of the magic corps? Willow and I are the only full-time witches attached to the Council in Sunnydale. However, there are several large covens in the area. We regularly host local talent as well as hold classes for anyone interested in the arcane.” Janna gestured for Tara to follow her. A few steps later, they stopped in front of a table where a young man and woman were engaged in a heated discussion with an older woman.

They were so involved none of them glanced up.

“You are completely wrong in your interpretation of the Aldis’ text.” The older woman leaned across the table. “Nowhere in his treatise does he espouse the use of magic for the mundane.”

The young man immediately disagreed. “It’s there, Althenea. How could you miss it?” He reached for a book bag on the floor.

And that’s when Janna smoothly interjected. “Good evening. I’m sorry to interrupt; I wanted to introduce you to Tara, a witch new to Sunnydale.” She put a gentle hand on Tara’s back – and then proceeded to shove her forward.

The hand stayed there, holding Tara in place, as all three witches turned toward her. “H-Hello.”

“Hey!” The young man hopped up and held out a hand. “Michael Czajak,” he announced. He shook Tara’s hand enthusiastically. “And this is Amy Madison,” the young woman waved, “and…”

“I can introduce myself, young man.” The older woman didn’t stand, nor did she offer Tara her hand. Instead, she examined Tara closely. If Janna’s hand hadn’t been on her back, Tara might have turned tail and run at the measuring gleam in the woman’s gaze. “I am Althenea.” Her lips lifted in what might have been a smile, but the movement was too slight for Tara to be sure.

“H-Hello.” Tara tried to look away from Althenea and found she couldn’t. The older woman held her in place with an imperiously raised eyebrow. “It’s nice to meet all of you.” Althenea might be a tea-sipping terror, but Michael and Amy seemed nice. If she survived the next few minutes, she’d try to find a way to speak with them

“Have you read Aldis’ work on the purpose of Magick in the Post-Modern Age?” Althenea inquired.

Oh, she wasn’t pulling Tara into the argument. Tara rediscovered her backbone. “I’m more familiar with his work on celestial bodies and their affect on warding spells.”

This time, Althenea’s expression was more recognizable as a smile. “Indeed. It is his signature work.” In a complete change of topic, she said, “I’m only here for the Social. My coven seems to believe I need to be socialized like an ill-mannered puppy.”

Tara almost rolled her eyes and she heard two muffled “coughs” behind her.

“My flight back to London doesn’t depart until sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’d like you to visit me at the Council house in the morning.” Her smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “I believe we have much to talk about. I will expect you at nine. Please do not be late.”

When Althenea turned her attention back to Michael and Amy, Tara sagged. Dear Goddess.

“Come on,” Janna murmured into Tara’s ear. “We’ve been dismissed.” They walked away from the table. “Sorry about that. She’s always abrupt and a tad abrasive,” Janna had a flare for understatement. “I’ve never seen her _that_ bad. I wonder if she Saw something?”

The capital letter was obvious. “Althenea’s a Seer?” Tara wanted to close her eyes in pain. She should never have come to this party.

***

 "Hey! There you are! I thought I told you to stay where you were and I’d get a doctor.” Faith wondered if Willow realized that she was sprinting across the room again – after she’d sworn to Faith and Buffy she would walk everywhere at a sedate pace after her latest accident.

For a genius, Willow could be pretty stupid. If the woman had actually been hurt, she’d have died on the dance floor. They’d been running all over the clubhouse for the last hour. Not to mention one of the Watchers or Slayers would have noticed a woman bleeding and broken on the ground at some point. After all, Willow had indicated she’d run into the woman near the buffet table. Plenty of Slayers making return trips for more food all night long. One of them would have looked up from their plate to see Willow’s victim.

“I tried to tell you I was fine,” the woman protested. “But you ran off so fast, I don’t think you heard me.”

“I can’t believe you met Tara before and didn’t tell me.” Xander, who’d been standing behind Tara and hovering over her, shook a finger at Willow. “Bad Willow. What kind of friend are you? Here I am, going on and on about you, telling Tara you’re my best bud and this super powerful witch. And you know what, Will? She already knows you.”

He crossed his arms and attempted to glare at Willow. Xander failed miserably.

“I’m thinking Red didn’t stay long enough to give her name,” Faith commented. “More like a hit and run than a meet and greet.”

“Faith!” Willow hissed. She shot a desperate glance at Janna and immediately winced.

Crap. Faith hadn’t meant to throw Willow under the bus. Cursing her stupidity, Faith decided one more screw up couldn’t make tomorrow’s punishment any worse than it already was. She was built for it; Willow wasn’t. And she owed Willow for helping her almost pass last week’s math test.

“Tara looks pretty good for a victim of the Willow Train. From the way you were talking, Red, I thought she’d be sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.” She gave Tara a slow once over. “Blondie looks fine to me.” That should get everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me?” Tara snapped. She raised her chin and met Faith’s eyes.

Faith swallowed. Maybe she’d made a strategic error. Tara didn’t look like much in the Domme department; now that she was pissed, though, her eyes resembled blue fire. Faith had faced down tougher Dominants, however. And this time, she was acting out for a good cause. She continued to stare insolently at Tara.  “Think you heard me just fine, Blondie.”

“Faith!” Janna, Willow, and Buffy said at the same time.

Ignoring the multi-voiced rebuke, Faith waited to see what else Tara would do.

Tara’s eyes narrowed. “Whether I heard you or not isn’t really the point, is it, Faith?”

No. Tara was right. It wasn’t the point. Getting a reaction – and keeping the focus away from Willow – _was._ With studied arrogance, Faith raised one hand to cover a fake yawn. The gap separating her from Tara shrunk by a couple of feet as Tara stepped forward. Faith enjoyed the blush tinting Tara’s cheeks and the way her chest rose and fell as anger caused her to breathe faster.

Unfortunately, Faith had forgotten she and Tara weren’t alone. This wasn’t a bar. Faith wasn’t testing the woman’s Dominance as a prospective partner for the night. More importantly, Janna and Buffy didn’t wait for Tara to put Faith in her place.

A callused hand gripped the back of Faith’s neck. It pushed at the same time a foot slammed into the back of her knees.

Faith hit the ground hard, and Buffy held her there.

“Tara, I apologize for Faith’s behavior; I can’t imagine why Giles thought she was well-trained enough to attend the Social.” The words burned Faith like acid, and she struggled uselessly against Buffy.

“It’s f-fine,” Tara whispered. Since Faith hadn’t dropped her eyes when Buffy shoved her to the floor, she watched as Tara appeared to shrink into herself. Her head dipped and her hair hid her expression. “I sh-shouldn’t…” Tara cleared her throat. When she resumed speaking, the words were slower and forcibly distinct. “It was nice meeting you, Janna. I should find my friends and go.”

Tara was leaving? Faith shifted uneasily against Buffy’s grip. That wasn’t what Faith had wanted. She’d simply wanted to deflect Janna’s attention away from Willow for a few minutes.

“Don’t go, Tara. Please.” Xander turned his puppy dog eyes on Tara. Faith normally thought his act was pathetic. Right now, she held her breath and hoped it would work.

A tiny half-smile rewarded his efforts. “Don’t overuse use the eyes, sweetie. You’ll need them for something important one day.” Tara straightened a little, as if regaining some of her composure. “I’ll stay for a little while because you asked so nicely.”

Xander beamed, and Faith scowled. Why did Dominants turn to mush over that cute, puppy dog shit?  Her only consolation was that Buffy hadn’t enjoyed Xander’s show, either. The hand holding her had tightened until Faith knew she’d have bruises, and Buffy was board-stiff behind her.

“Now that’s settled,” Janna turned to Willow. “I’d like to hear more about the Willow Train. Because it sounds like you forgot our rules, _drag_ _ă_.” Faith’s distraction hadn’t worked. She wasn’t letting Willow off the hook.

Rules. It always came down to rules. Faith tuned out the rest of Janna’s lecture. There were too damned many rules, especially now that Faith had been Called. She’d been mostly rule-free in Boston until then. Her mother hadn’t paid attention to what Faith did. And none of her mother’s “boyfriends” had, either, as long as Faith hadn’t fought too hard when they’d snuck into her room at night.

Faith’s hands scrubbed up and down her arms absently. It had been a small price to pay for relative freedom during the day. It was all different now. Faith’s head dropped until her chin nearly rested on her chest. She couldn’t do anything right anymore.

Diana had preached constantly about the way Faith acted. Shifting again, Faith hurriedly locked those memories away. One trip down memory lane tonight was enough.

“…think you will stay closer to me for the rest of this evening.” Faith returned to the conversation as Janna made her announcement and clipped a leash to Willow’s collar. “This way, I get to enjoy your beauty…” Faith snorted softly as Willow grinned and wiggled at the praise. “And our guests will be able to safely enjoy the evening.”

“I feel safer already,” Tara said. Her voice was so soft, barely above a whisper. Faith tilted her head in an effort to hear better. “Now, Xander, I think you said something about introducing me to your best friend? I think I’d like to meet her while _not_ lying prostrate on the floor.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're triggered by institutional punishment with dubious consent, please consider giving this chapter a miss.

Glancing at her watch, Tara winced. She was late. Not a good way to impress Althenea. She knocked on the front door to the Slayer House and waited. The House appeared normal. A wide covered porch stretched along the front of the building, and the yard was well maintained. The three-foot high white picket fence matched several other fences on the block.

The door opened, and Tara turned away from examining the yard. “Ellie! Good morning.” Some of Tara’s unease disappeared at Ellie’s familiar face.

“Hey.” Ellie’s smile seemed forced. Her lips moved while her eyes remained dark with some unnamed emotion.  “I’m glad you came by, Tara. Only…now really isn’t a good time for a visit.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize something was wrong. Tara peered intently at Ellie. The other girl wasn’t hurt. At least, not that Tara could see. “Ellie? Did something happen? Is someone hurt?” Everyone knew how dangerous Slaying was.

“No. Nothing like that,” Ellie assured her. “What can I do for you this morning?” She didn’t invite Tara inside. Whatever had happened, it was clear Ellie didn’t want Tara inside the House.

Unfortunately, Tara wasn’t there to simply say hello. “I’m here to see Althenea. She arranged the meeting last night.”

“Oh. Um, OK.” Ellie stepped back and held the door open.

The foyer was spotless. Gleaming hardwood floors contrasted with blue-painted walls. A staircase stretched up two more floors, a blue runner softening the continued wood theme.  It was not at all the dark English gentlemen’s club decorations Tara had half expected. The airy, light space didn’t disguise the absolute lack of noise, however. Not even the UC-Sunnydale library early on a Sunday morning was this silent.

Ellie closed the door and gestured to an archway on the right. “Althenea’s finishing breakfast on the patio. I’ll show you the way.” Her voice wasn’t loud enough to be classified as a normal speaking voice; nor was it soft enough to be called a whisper. Yet it still managed to sound too loud.

Rather than reply verbally, Tara nodded and followed Ellie into a comfortable living room. Jennifer occupied one corner of a leather couch. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Raquel who huddled in her lap. Willow paced back and forth across the length of the room at a speed reminiscent of her mad dash across convention room the previous night.

Was meeting with Althenea really worth interrupting whatever was happening in the House?

Not one of the young women glanced up as Tara and Ellie walked through the room and down a narrow hallway. Several doorways lined the hall but Ellie continued to the far end and a pair of French doors. The doors led outside into a huge backyard, complete with a flagstone patio. Sunlight sparkled off a crystal-clear pool and hot tub on one side, and birds chirped in a stand of trees to the other.

Althenea sat at a shaded table with the remains of breakfast. When Ellie disappeared back into the house, Tara gathered her courage and strode across the patio. “Good morning,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster.

“Please join me.” Althenea’s manners hadn’t improved with sleep. She regarded Tara sternly as she dragged the surprisingly heavy wrought iron chair from beneath the table and sat down. “I do not have much time, and there is much for us to discuss. Therefore, I will dispense with the pleasantries.”

She hadn’t already? Tara wondered.

“I am a Seer. When we met at the Social, I had a series of visions,” Althenea announced.

Tara expected her to follow up with the details of what she’d Seen. Althenea fell silent, though. Refusing to fall into what she suspected was a carefully constructed trap, Tara turned her attention to a squirrel on a nearby branch. The squirrel intently studied a bird feeder hanging a few feet away. Tail held high, it sidled closer. One step. Stop. Three quick steps. Stop. With a final mad dash, it climbed onto the feeder and stuffed handfuls of nuts and seed into its mouth.

“You do not want to be a Dominant,” Althenea said.

This was important enough for a vision? It required a _Seer_?Tara’s left hand dropped below the edge of the table and gripped the fabric of her skirt tightly. “Why w-would you say that?”

“Don’t trifle with me, child!” With surprising speed, Althenea reached across the table and gripped Tara’s right hand. “You have power; power you hide. And your spirit is fractured. Cracked so deeply and deftly that it is almost broken.”

If Tara had thought her legs would hold her up, she would have run from the patio and probably all the way out of Sunnydale. Althenea’s words weren’t shocking. Tara _knew_ they were, in fact, true. That didn’t mean she was ready to confront and overcome her issues.

“You do not hide because it is your choice. You hide because you are afraid.” Althenea’s grip was painful, yet Tara didn’t pull away. She was frozen in place like a bug pinned in a display case. “Fear can be a great motivator. It can push you forward to avoid whatever darkness chases. Or it can send you cowering into a corner so dark and deep you can never escape.”

Tara really wished there was a corner nearby. She’d willingly cower there until Althenea went away. Since that wasn’t an option, Tara pulled her shoulders back and took a deep, calming breath. “I don’t think this is any of your business.”

A rusty chuckle emanated from Althenea. “You are not the first to say that. If your fears affected only your future, I would agree.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” What had Althenea Seen? Couldn’t she just get to the point? Tara knew few people in Sunnydale. Or she had until last night. She deliberately kept to herself so that friends wouldn’t become leverage if her father found her. “Maxie and Trish. Are they safe?” Goddess, she’d never forgive herself…

“I will not tell you what the Goddess showed me. To share that Gift might influence your choices.” Althenea released Tara’s hand and patted it gently. “Your choices are your own, Tara. I merely give you food for thought. Events will soon challenge the comfortable place you have made for yourself. Lives depend on your decisions.”

The sunlight slipping through the shadows did little to warm Tara. She shivered, cold all the way to her soul. “What else will you tell me?”

“Only that your past continues to shape you, child. And there are others who suffer as you do.” For the first time, Althenea sounded approving of Tara. “Your goodness shines like a beacon. Trust your heart. It will never lead you astray. And do not be afraid to let others in. The world has its share of monsters, yet there are plenty of heroes, too. I believe you will be one of them.”

Tara didn’t know how to respond. Althenea saw her as a hero. A hero who could destroy lives with the wrong decision.

While Tara considered that, Althenea stood. “It is time for me to leave. I will instruct one of the girls to escort you home whenever you wish.”

***

Sitting on her bed, back pressed tightly to the headboard, Faith heard the Retrieval Team coming for her. More than one pair of boots and the clink of chains. Her stomach threatened to revolt and her eyes burned. The sunny day outside, the freedom it represented, had never been so tempting.

A sharp knock interrupted called her back to reality. Ignoring the siren song of freedom, she walked shakily to the door and opened it.

“Slayer Lehane, your presence is required in the Punishment Room.” The Retrieval Team member was the same one who’d dragged Faith from the bar last night. However, his expression held no obvious enjoyment of his task. “Please extend your wrists and submit to the judgment of the Council.”

Giles, or more likely Quentin, hadn’t been sure of Faith’s submission. Four other uniformed goons stood at the ready in the narrow hallway. Faith wanted to provide them a reason for being there, but her arms and legs felt too leaden to fight. Instead, she raised her hands and held them (mostly) steady as the lead officer fastened a cuffs to her wrists. With quick, economical movements he attached a short length of chain to the D-rings on each cuff, binding her hands close together.

Faith’s unsteady footsteps were in clear counterpoint to the sharp, rhythmic steps of her escort. There was no one else in the hallway. Not a single head emerged from an office or bedroom. No one witnessed Faith’s march to her doom. The trip from her second-floor bedroom to the basement  that seemed to last hours yet ended in seconds.

Janna stood in the small Punishment Room, and Faith halted just over the threshold. No. They couldn’t use Janna. Why weren’t they using a local Dominant like the other times? Someone impartial, someone Faith wouldn’t have to see every day?

The nightmare continued as Janna read from the official Council decision document in her hand. Her voice became so much static. Faith couldn’t follow the list of her offences. She was sure it was a long list. Giles had been sweeping things under the rug for a while. All of that would have come out once last night’s trip to the bar got to the full Council. The static grew louder as Janna set a paddle drilled with two rows of holes and a thin, varnished cane on the table next to the spanking bench.

Dropping her pants and underwear and being fastened over the bench brought Faith out of the fog. She tugged on the stocks fastened around her neck and wrists. Pulled at the cuffs on her ankles and the wide strap wrapped around her waist. She was completely bound to the leather-padded bench. Yanking and attempting to wiggle free was futile. The bench had been spelled to hold against even a Slayer’s strength. Panting in fear, Faith watched the curtain in front of her face slide back. The mirrored glass hid the identities of the required witnesses in the Audience Room but clearly reflected Faith’s white, strained expression.

No, damn it. Faith wasn’t going to let them see her fear or her pain.

Janna immediately tested Faith’s resolve. The paddle landed with a solid crack in the tender crease where Faith’s thighs met her ass. The burn was immediate, and as Janna waited to deliver the next blow, Faith felt the ache settle deep into her muscles. Dropping her head or hiding her face was impossible thanks to the design of the bench. Witnesses had to be able to see her expression; although the rest of her body was thankfully shielded from view. Faith clenched her jaw as the pain increased with each successive blow. She didn’t bother to count. If the number climbed too high, it would only cause her to panic more.

Despite her best intention, Faith yanked harder and harder against the cuffs as the paddling continued. Tears streaked her face. The sight of them in the reflective glass infuriated Faith. She closed her eyes, the one small rebellion she could manage, and tightened her muscles against the pain. When this was over, she was out of here. She was leaving Sunnydale. The Council could kiss her battered ass because Faith was done dancing to their tune.

Faith’s frantic breaths were loud in the small room when Janna paused to set the paddle down and picked up the cane. Its distinctive whistle split the air a heartbeat before Faith’s choked off scream.

Janna knew what she was doing. Faith felt twin surges of pain with each strike of the cane, one immediately on impact and the next a few seconds later just before Janna finally lifted the polished yew rod from her ass.

Any hope Faith had of remaining stoic died. She lived and breathed nothing but agony.

The Retrieval Team had to lift Faith from the spanking bench when the punishment session ended. The officer in charge actually redressed her, and Faith couldn’t muster the strength to shove his hands away or move out of his reach. Dangling in the grip of two other men, Faith faced Janna.

“The decreed punishment has concluded in front of witnesses. Each has signed a statement validating the required correction was administered. This information will be placed in your Council file, Faith.” Janna’s remote expression thawed. “It’s over.” She approached and gently pushed Faith’s sweaty, tangled hair away from her face. “Please let us help you, _feti_ _ţă._ We don’t like to see you hurting like this.”

Her advice and her touch weren’t welcome. Faith managed to jerk her head away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarled.

“We aren’t the enemy, Faith,” Janna said with apparent sincerity. However, with a weary nod, she stepped away. “Take her back to her room. I’ll send one of the medical staff to meet you.”

***

The birdsong was beautiful. Tara listened to the cheerful sound for a long time before standing. Althenea had, as she stated, given Tara many things to think about. The Slayer House wasn’t the place to do that. Not in any productive way. Tara needed to be home, even if home was a cramped college dorm room.

Reentering the house, Tara started down the hall. However, before she went more than a few feet, one of the doors opened. A uniformed man stepped into the hallway. A second later, two more men carried Faith, who dangled between them with her arms over their shoulders. The Slayer looked terrible. Pale, eyes swollen with tears, face lined with pain. Her feet tried to find purchase on the floor but more often than not they simply dragged along the wooden boards.

As Tara watched, more uniform men emerged. Then a flood of others, including Buffy, Giles, and Janna. Tara didn’t recognize the rest of the group. All of them appeared strained and somber.

One of the women glanced up and spotted Tara. Her face tightened nearly imperceptibly for an instant before she veered in Tara’s direction. Giles trail a step behind. “You must be Tara,” the woman announced in a clipped British accent. “Ru mentioned meeting you at the Social.” Tara didn’t realize she meant Giles until the woman reached back and stroked a finger over his collar.

“Lady Lydia.” Tara held out her hand. Lydia’s grip was firm yet quick.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” That was doubtful given the scene Tara had just witnessed. Lydia was only being polite.

Tara did her best to equal Lydia’s manners. “I hope you weren’t too unhappy with Mr. Giles’ rescue of me last night.” Tara hid her unease and desire to leave the House as best she could. “He was a true gentleman.”

One of Lydia’s eyebrows cocked and she turned her head to peer at Giles. “Really? Have you finally turned over a new leaf, Ru?”  

There were lines of strain bracketing Giles’ mouth, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. All the life and energy he’d shown the previous evening was absent. “I only sought to follow your edict, my Lady, and placed the specter of my past away.” His head dipped slightly.

The past was a common theme today. Tara eyed Giles closely. Had Althenea told him what she’d seen last night? He didn’t meet her eyes; in fact, he and Lydia were in some sort of stare down. Tara’s need to flee the house grew.

For once, her luck was good. “Forgive us, Tara.” Lydia pulled her focus from Giles for a moment. “There has been a situation requiring our attention, and I’m afraid we are not able to be proper hosts this morning. Would you be terribly offended if Ru and I left you to wrap up some final details?”

Absolutely not. Tara shook her head and murmured, “No, I understand. Althenea arranged for one of the Slayers to escort me back to campus.” Not that she had any plans to actually _use_ an escort. It was broad daylight and Tara could do some strategizing during the walk.

“Thank you.” Lydia took Giles’ hand and they ducked back through the same doorway as before.


	5. Chapter 5

Tara wasted no more time. She hurried back to the living room and found Buffy staring out of the large bay window. The rest of the Slayers were missing. Rationalizing that Buffy appeared preoccupied and not ready to act as an escort (that she didn’t need), Tara slipped past and headed for the door.  
  
“Running away?” Buffy’s question halted Tara’s escape.  
  
“N-not really.” Tara glanced at Buffy and then the door. “But, now that you mention it...” She let the words trail off hopefully.  
  
In three quick strides, Buffy joined Tara in the foyer. “If there’s any day to run, today would be the day.” She shoved the door open and looked expectantly at Tara. “I’ll walk you back. The rest of the crew is either on the way to the airport or wishing they were. The sunshine and faux fresh air will do me good.”  
  
“I really can walk back on my own.” Joining Buffy on the patio, Tara took a deep breath. Buffy had been correct. The fresh air helped. She could feel the tension from inside the house fade slightly.  
  
“It’s OK. I don’t mind. Besides, I understand Althenea promised you a Slayer escort.” Buffy hopped off the porch with far more energy than Tara could ever hope to muster. “It gives us a chance to talk - which we didn’t do last night. I’ve heard tons and tons of things about you from Willow - and a few from Janna and Giles. And if you’ve got Willow all excited... Well, as her best friend, it’s in my best interest to know everything, too.”  
  
Best friends. “Janna doesn’t mind? You and Willow, I mean.” Living in the back of beyond hadn’t given Tara a lot of exposure to normal relationships. Trish and Maxie were the exception.  
  
“Nope. Will and I go way back.” Buffy laughed. “Way back three years. Will and Xander go all the way back to Kindergarten. They’re tight. Ask one of them about the Crayon Incident. They were the first friends I made in Sunnydale after Mom, Dad, and I moved here from LA. Janna understands that. I’m no threat. As a Domme anyway. It might be a toss-up in a fight.” She shadow boxed for a second. “As long as I got in a couple good punches before the magic started flying, I’d come out on top.”  
  
Tara shook her head. “Not if Janna has personal shields. You’d bounce right off or get the shock of your life.” As soon as the words were out, Tara wanted them back. Or did she? Damn Althenea and her vision. Until this morning, Tara had been happy...well, content to dabble at the edges of the mystical world.  
  
“Really?” Buffy’s shock was surprising since she spent so much time with Willow.  
  
“It takes a lot of personal energy.” Or a nearby ley line. Tara didn’t go into too much detail. “What’s it like, being a Slayer? All I know is from those classes...”  
  
Buffy pulled a comical face. “I think they should rename them from Basic Slayer class to All the Really Boring Parts of Being a Slayer class. That whole day on the History of Slayers? Who cares? Everyone just wants to know what demons and vampires look like and how we kill them.”  
  
“So Slayers aren’t big on their history, huh?” Tara enjoyed the way Buffy spun and regarded her with hands on her hips.  
  
“That wasn’t nice,” Buffy pointed out. “Embarrassingly accurate, though. At least for most of us. Giles is always holding up the few Slayer Scholars, as he calls them, as examples of what Faith and I should be.” A little of Buffy’s exuberance faded when she mentioned Faith.  
  
Tara didn’t press for information. She didn’t need to after having seen Faith at the Slayer House. Someone had punished her with a heavy hand. She recognized the signs.  
  
 _“I told you no magic!” Her father’s voice preceded the sound of flesh meeting flesh._  
  
Tara closed her eyes and scooted farther under the bed. Her hiding place wouldn’t be good enough to keep him from finding her later. And it didn’t block the sights or sounds as he dragged her mother to the chain station at the end of the attic. The first crack of the whip tore an involuntary whimper from Tara that was drowned by her mother’s shrill scream of pain.  
  
“Where are you from? I know you didn’t go to Hellmouth High with the rest of us.” Buffy thankfully hadn’t noticed Tara’s distraction - or the sudden cold sweat that slicked her skin.  
  
She’d lived and studied in Hell, not the Hellmouth, Tara thought. Out loud, she stuttered, “My fa-family had a farm in th-the count-try.” She deliberately didn’t say where the farm was located. “Sunnydale was the b-big city.”  Before Buffy could ask more about her past, Tara turned the conversational table. “What was it like to grow up on a Hellmouth?”  
  
“Lucky for me, I don’t know. I grew up in LA, remember? Movie stars and way  better shopping.” They’d reached the edge of campus, and Buffy took the scenic route. The well-worn footpath wasn’t officially maintained by the UC-Sunnydale grounds crew. However, it was quiet, and private under the sheltering trees; the respite helped Tara pull herself together a little as Buffy explained. “Apparently the Slayers Council has a faulty early warning system. Every once in a while, a Potential Slayer slips through cracks in the identification spell.”  
  
There was a story there. Tara watched Buffy’s expression grow pensive. “From normal to Superhero in one big step?”

“You can’t imagine.” Buffy held out her arms and glided along like a skater. “One minute I’m a budding juvenile delinquent with fantasies of the Ice Capades. The next? I’m burning down the school gym to kill a bunch of vampires. I spent a whole two days in the LA Slayer Compound - while they convinced the cops I wasn’t a pyromaniac - before they reassigned me here.”  
  
“So I moved from the sticks to the big city, and you moved from the big city to the back of beyond,” Tara summed up as they approached the open-air dining area for the Student Union. “This is my stop. Am I imagining it? Or have there been way too many train references in the past twenty-four hours?”  
  
“Yes, but I’d like to point out that the Buffy Train offers First Class Comfort and customer service. The Willow Train is only for those wishing to get from Spot A to Spot B in the fastest possible time.” Buffy shrugged. “Your choice. Comfort or speed. Apparently you can’t have both.”  
  
She met Tara’s eyes and they both laughed. “Thanks for the company, Buffy. It was nice.” It was rare for Tara to feel so comfortable talking with anyone. “If you even need a passenger in the First Class cabin, give me a call. I’m in the university phone book.”  
  
“I will; although, I think you’ll be spending more time at the Slayer House than you might want. Will and Janna can’t wait to add another witch to the team, and Giles doesn’t get that British and stuffy unless he wants to impress someone.” With a wave goodbye, Buffy jogged off. 

***

“Who was the cute guy at the party?” Maxie asked the second Tara opened her dorm room door. She and Trish pushed their way inside while Tara stood dumbly holding the door. “For someone who didn’t want to find a sub, you move fast, girl.”  
  
Absently closing the door behind them, Tara wondered how to politely usher her friends back into the hallway. She didn’t have time to talk. There was packing to do. Packing. Goddess. Boxes and bags littered the floor and bed. The closet was empty of her few clothes. It wouldn’t take...  
  
“Hey, are you moving to another room? Did the Nazis over at Housing decide they couldn’t afford to let you keep the single room?” Trish moved a box from the bed to the floor and sat in its place. “You should tell them to shove their roommate assignment form and move in with us. We’ve got more than enough room.”  
  
The idea was so laughable that Tara forgot she needed Trish and Maxie to leave. “And the noise from your “extracurricular” activities? Unless you exaggerate about Maxie’s vocal range, I’m better off here.”  
  
Trish sighed and threw up her hands. “You could learn so much from us. Japanese bondage techniques, basic whip care. I was thinking about installing a target in the backyard. We could practice using a single tail together. Maxie said if I can slice through a single sheet of newspaper without marking the other sheets, she’d let me use one the next time we went to her brother’s Halloween party. He’s got a full dungeon in his basement.”  
  
“I’ll never use a whip.” Tara’s vehement denial cut through the room. She was losing control, saying too much. _Feeling_ too much. Needing a distraction, and a way to avoid Trish’ concerned gaze, Tara packed the contents of her student desk into an empty box with painstaking care.  
  
“OK. What about a flogger? Less chance of putting an eye out - yours or the sub’s - and not so Uber Dominant.” Trish wasn’t teasing anymore despite the lighthearted phrasing. Tara had seen her do this in a debate once. Trish would poke and prod, trying one form of impact play after another until Tara either broke and told her the truth or she ran from the room in tears like Trish’s debate opponent.  
  
Before answering, Tara closed the box and taped it shut. No need to have pens and pencils rolling around if she happened to drop the box.  “I don’t ever want to damage a sub, Trish. Not by design or by accident. Whips, floggers, canes... They can do permanent harm.” Hopefully that would be enough and Trish would drop the entire line of questioning. Tara didn’t want to admit she had no intention of ever Dominating a sub at all.

“You never told us about the sub at the party.” Maxie and Trish were working in tandem. Their own irritating version of Good Cop, Bad Cop.

“His name was Xander,” Tara offered calmly. Two could play this game. If Trish and Maxie wanted information, she’d provide it. At her own pace and comfort level. While she finished packing.

She could almost hear Trish growl. Frustration was rife when Trish asked, “And?”

“And he was a very nice young man.” Finishing another box, she finally turned to her friends. “What about you two? I lost sight of you almost as soon as we went inside. Did you meet some nice Slayers?” No way would Trish go to a party dedicated beautiful, athletic women and not gravitate toward them.

“Oh, you wouldn’t _believe_ it, Tara.” Maxie was a little less adept than Trish at spotting Tara’s diversion. While Trish gave Tara an evil look, Maxie answered the question. “Wow. They were sooo hot.” She fanned herself dramatically. “If I wasn’t already bonded to the most beautiful woman on the planet, I would have thrown myself on my knees and begged one or all of them to collar me.”

Her compliment drew Trish’s attention away from Tara. “Mmm, and that’s why I love you, little girl. You have such a way with words.” One of Trish’s hands tangled in Maxie’s collar and pulled her in for a long, lazy kiss.

It was such a normal sight that Tara didn’t bat an eyelash. She used the time to tape up and move several more boxes against the wall. In Sunnydale less than a year and she’d already collected so many things. She’d been smarter when she’d first run away. Her motto then had been to travel light and to never get attached to anything and anyone.

Now she was well and truly attached.

Did she really want to leave? Tara had been happy in Sunnydale. Trish and Maxie had become her family. And now Janna and Willow offered an opportunity to study magic with people who not only believed in it, they _lived_ it.

Oh, Goddess. Tara didn’t want to leave.

Tara absorbed the thought. If she wasn’t going to leave, what _was_ she going to do? Althenea’s comments came back in a ghostly echo, _“Trust your heart. It will never lead you astray. And do not be afraid to let others in.”_

Letting people in… Could she do that after all this time? After all the running?

Turning back to Maxie and Trish – who were thankfully still fully clothed and back to simple petting – Tara knew she already had. “How about you save the floor show for another time?”

Trish shot her a smirk. “If you had a sub of your very own, you would _know_ how mean you’re being to me.” She kissed Maxie one more time and returned her to the floor. Maxie immediately resumed kneeling but leaned heavily into Trish’s legs. “So what’s really going on, Tar? You seem…different. Afraid.”

Trish didn’t know the half of it. Taking a seat on the desk chair, Tara took the first step to following Althenea’s advice. “I didn’t move to Sunnydale because I got a great scholarship offer.” In fact, it barely covered her tuition. “I was running away from my family.”

Wonder of wonders, Trish and Maxie remained quiet as Tara paused to gather her scattered thoughts and emotions. “It’s why I never go home or get any phone calls or mail.” Trish had often commented on the lack. “They don’t know where I am, and I want to keep it that way.”

“But you’re packing now.” Trish was always so quick to put the evidence together.

“Yes. Not for that reason, though.” Not really. Tara sighed and prayed Althenea knew what she was doing. “I got some disturbing news this morning, and, well… I was basically about to run away again.”

Maxie was the first to respond. She shot off the floor and stalked across the room. “We won’t let you run, Tara. Trish has cuffs and rope in her backpack.”

“That’s…That’s good to know,” Tara said faintly. A tiny grin snuck out. “I’ll ask why she has all the goodies later.” And tease Trish unmercifully about her toy bag. “Can we move past me packing up and leaving? I’m staying. I’ve decided to stay. You two…You convinced me to stay - without the bondage.” Taking Maxie’s hand and meeting Trish’s concerned gaze, she whispered, “There are a lot of things I need to tell you. And I need your help.”

“Whatever you need, Tara, you’ve got it,” Trish said without hesitation while Maxie wrapped Tara in a fierce hug. “Do you want to talk here? Or would our place be better? I was serious about you moving in with us. Maxie and I have been talking about it since the semester started.”  
  
Tears burned Tara’s eyes. They hadn’t even heard her story, yet they were willing to open their home. “We can talk here. After-afterward you can decide if you’re still willing to help.”

With an outraged sniff, Maxie retreated back toward the bed. Rather than kneel, though, she presented Trish with a truly pathetic expression. Trish rearranged her position until she rested against the headboard and pulled Maxie onto her lap. “No matter what you tell us, we’re not changing our mind, Tar.”  
  
With a tight nod, Tara opened the door to her past. It was a tired, sometimes trite story. “My parent’s bond was toxic,” she said, using the current slang indicating a bond that just didn’t work. “My father didn’t want a submissive. He didn’t want someone who complemented his dynamic. He wanted a mindless doll who obeyed his every whim. He wanted to control everything, every thought, every emotion, every action.” It had been smothering. Absolutely terrifying and smothering. “He wouldn’t let us leave the farm for anything. Mama had to home school me and my brother, using things that my father approved.” It had been illegal but who was going to report it? Not Tara or her mother. And Donny had been a chip off the Maclay block, a clone of their father.  
  
She skirted the worst of her childhood. Trish and Maxie didn’t need to know how bad it had really been. “He hated anything that didn’t fit into his tiny little box of expectations. And a sub who was a witch... It embarrassed him. Challenged him. I think that’s why he was always so overly strict with Mama.” So quick to use a whip for the smallest infraction. There had been a cage in the living room. Her mother had spent hours huddled inside as punishment. Intellectually, Tara understood that some submissives would have been happy with that role. Her mother had not been one of them. “By the time I was born, Mama had started to rebel. She wanted out, but she didn’t have a way to leave. We lived miles from the nearest neighbor and she didn’t have any family.”  
  
“Is your mother still there?” Tara had never seen Trish angry. Even when Maxie broke one of their rules, she was calm and level headed. Right now, though, she spoke between clenched teeth. “Did she stay with that bastard?”  
  
Tara lost her fight with tears. “No. Sh-She died l-last year.” And three days later, Tara had snuck away in the middle of the night.  
  
“Oh, honey.” Trish was holding Maxie so tightly it was a wonder the sub could breathe. “I’m so sorry. How did you manage to find this tiny college?”  
  
Swiping impatiently at her tears, Tara shrugged. “Mama found a way around the web nanny program my father had put on our computer, and she helped me apply to several colleges. UC-Sunnydale was the only one that offered me a scholarship.” She’d financed the trip to California and most of her living expenses with money her mother had stolen (via computer) from her father’s accounts over the last several years and then hidden in online banks.  
  
“Just so you know, Tara, you didn’t scare us off.” Maxie looked as fierce as was humanly possible for a sub cuddled on the lap of her Dominant. “I should call my brothers,” both of whom were Marines. “They’d be _more_ than happy to talk with your father and explain how a real Dominant treats his submissive.”  
  
That wasn’t what Tara wanted. Violence would only compound the horror, and she didn’t believe her father would learn anything from it.  
  
“Then how can we help, Tar? Believe me, we’ll do anything,” Trish promised. “A place to stay? It’s not a choice any longer. We’ll move you today. Money? Maxie and I have a little put away.”  
  
How could Tara have ever thought hiding away was the answer to her problems? Trish’s support and Maxie’s concern warmed her, chasing away some of the loneliness and sense of isolation. “Th-thank you. If you really don’t mind a house guest...”  
  
“We don’t,” Trish and Maxie answered in stereo.  
  
“OK.” Tara took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I have one more favor to ask.” If she was going to listen to Althenea’s advice, she couldn’t pick and choose which parts. It was all or nothing. “Someone told me recently I had to stop hiding who and what I am. You’d like her, Trish.” That came out a tad wry. “She implied I had to find a submissive.” Why else would Althenea warn Tara she had to stop being afraid to be a Dominant?  
  
“Ooh. Can we meet this woman? I want to shake her hand.” Trish grinned. “So will it be the hot guy at the party? ‘Cause you still haven’t shared the details.”  
  
“Not Xander,” Tara said. “He’s already bonded.” She’d noticed his black leather cuff immediately. “And you can’t meet Althenea. She offered drive-by advice and flew back to England this morning. She was very good at telling me I needed to grow up and stop hiding,” she continued. “But I don’t think she understood the real problem.”  
  
Trish arched an eyebrow. “And that is?”  
  
“I have absolutely no idea how to actually _be_ a Dominant. I need you to teach me, Trish,” Tara answered.

Tara’s past hadn’t fazed Trish. The request did. “You mean like Dominance 101? But…Didn’t you…”

Trish might have continued to verbally stumble except Maxie came to her rescue. “She was home schooled, you doofus. And I don’t think her father would have approved of the usual curriculum of safe, sane, and consensual. Not to mention taking Aftercare and Proper Punishment from your parents would have been squicky.”

Covering her mouth with a hand, Tara tried to hide her giggles. Maxie’s tart comment might have been hilarious, but it wouldn’t do to encourage the impolite delivery.

Trish regarded her sub with a narrow-eyed expression. “I don’t beat you often enough, little girl.”

“Nope.” Smiling sunnily, Maxie bussed Trish on the nose. “We’ve been together too long for you to start now. The first rule of caring for your sub is consistency. Since you’ve never corrected me for speaking my mind, you must like it when I do.”

With a huff, Trish grumbled, “Maybe we should renegotiate our contract, brat.” Then she turned her attention back to Tara. “I’d be happy to help you learn. However, using Maxie and me as an example won’t give you the broad picture of Dominance you need. Every dynamic is a little different. In some couples, what Maxie just said, how she said it, would have ended with her over my lap.”

“Or trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with a gag stuffed in my mouth and a pair of nasty nipple clamps as an added bonus.” Maxie peered over at Tara. “You have to figure out what you and your sub are comfortable with. What triggers the Uber Domme in you, and what sends your partner into subspace.”

She’d known it wasn’t going to be simple. Too bad Althenea’s warning had included such a fantastic motivator: people dying. “Just help me learn the basics. I don’t need to be an expert.” After all, she still didn’t expect to bond this late in life.

“Give me a couple of days to come up with a plan.” Trish tipped Maxie off her lap and stood. “Right now I want to get you moved and settled in.”

***

There were four emails in Tara’s in-box, all of them ending with the same domain name. Slayerscouncil.org. The first was time stamped the morning following the Winter Social. Whoever redwitch was, she was very persistent and punctual. The final three emails had been spaced exactly six hours apart.

Well, Tara had been busy moving. She clicked on the most recent email, already mentally crafting her apology.

_Tara,_

_It’s Willow again. Hey, I hope we didn’t scare you off yesterday morning. It was bad timing. And Althenea is pretty scary when she’s in Seer Mode. Janna and I really want you to give us a second chance. The Basic Magic classes – that’s what I call them. The Council name is miles long and sounds like I’m reading a dictionary – are every day at six. Want to stop and check them out? Email and we can meet for lunch, too. I have Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons off at school._

Tara checked the clock. If she didn’t respond to this one, another email would probably appear shortly. The six-hour deadline was in forty minutes. Biting her lip, Tara wavered. Althenea’s words had already spurred her to change so much in a short time. Moving, learning what it meant to be a good Dominant. Was she ready to openly practice magic?  
  
Was this really about magic? Willow and Janna were witches, sure. They were also nice people. Tara had already committed to letting people into her life. Not to mention Buffy, Xander, Giles, Lydia, and Faith weren’t witches. Magic wasn’t the only thing to consider. Tara had to look at the _people_ , too. Wondering why she’d even considered refusing Willow’s invitation, Tara typed a swift response.  
  
 _Lunch today at the House? Will 12:30 work? I can bring sandwiches from the sandwich shop downtown.  
  
_ By the time she’d cleared the rest of the older mail from her inbox, Willow had accepted the offer and left her lunch order. Tara did some mental calculations. She’d be able to finish the first chapter of the book Trish had loaned her, _The Loving Dominant_ , before picking up lunch. Leaving the laptop running in case Willow changed her mind, Tara settled back on the couch and opened the book.  
  
 _There is often the misconception that the dynamic in a D/s relationship is driven or controlled by the Dominant. In reality, it is the submissive - or more correctly, the submissive’s needs - which determine the actions of the Dominant within the dynamic._  
  
Tara was so engrossed in the chapter that she had to run to pick up lunch and make it to the Slayer House on time. Panting, she knocked on the door. It sprang open. Willow’s wide smile made it clear that things had returned to normal. “Hey, come on in. Janna and I are set up in the kitchen.”

***

Faith heard voices in the kitchen and hesitated. She didn’t want to play nice with anyone. Hunger warred with mood - and hunger won. She’d grab something quick (there were always leftovers in the refrigerator) and head to the patio. At least she could pretend to have some freedom there. The invisible prison bars were less noticeable anyway.  
  
Head down, she barged into the large, open kitchen. All conversation stopped.  
  
“Be out of your way in a minute,” she mumbled in a last-minute, badly executed attempt to be polite.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Faith.” The voice was new, and Faith stopped in surprise. “I didn’t know you would be here or I could have gotten you something.”  
  
Who was she? She’d been at the party the other night. Faith tried to remember...and then wished she hadn’t. “Tara” The woman Willow had run down.  The Dominant Faith had deliberately insulted. “No big. Plenty of food here.” It was the only good thing about the Slayer House. “Like I said, I’ll be outta the way soon.”  
  
Willow and Janna would have let her grab and run. Janna had been avoiding her since their special date in the basement yesterday. Tara didn’t know the way things worked here. She stood up and pulled a knife from the block on the counter. “Absolutely not. My sandwich is big enough to share.”  
  
“And there are extra chips in the pantry, Faith. Let me get them for you.” Janna was already striding toward the large food closet.  
  
“Any other objections?” Tara had this funny half-smile, and Faith had to smile back. Although it was grudging. She didn’t _feel_ like smiling. “It’s too cold? Too hot? You don’t like sandwiches?”

The girl was a comedian. “Not real fond of meat. I’m a vegetarian,” Faith lied with a completely straight face. She caught the slight widening of Tara’s eyes before she giggled. In spite of herself, Faith enjoyed the sound.

“I’ll pick the turkey and roast beef off. You’ll be fine.” Tara managed to get her laughter under control.

Ignoring the startled looks from Willow and Janna, Faith slowly lowered herself into the chair next to Tara. “Tell ya’ what. Just for today, I’ll eat meat. Don’t want you to have to go to all the trouble to scrape it off.”

“Deal.” Tara shoved the bigger portion of the sandwich across the table to Faith. 


	6. Chapter 6

Faith dug into the chips and sandwich. Tara was obviously new to the whole Slayer phenomenon. Half a sandwich? Not even several bags of chips would make that a meal. It was a nice gesture, though. The duo staring at her from across the table wouldn’t have offered Faith a crumb. Hell, they hadn’t even asked if Faith wanted anything when they’d arranged this lunch date.

Lunch date.

It was a perfect opportunity. One Faith _might_ have resisted if she didn’t owe Janna for yesterday. Her attempt at leaning casually back in the chair wasn’t as smooth a maneuver as usual. Faith bit back a moan as the movement woke the remaining welts and bruises on her thighs and ass. The pain made it even easier for Faith to say, “Red, you lookin’ to add another Lady? Three’s better than two.”

The conversation had never resumed after Faith joined the party. Any chance of it resurrecting disappeared after her remark. The silence grew glacial.

Hiding her smirk with a massive bite of sandwich, Faith watched Janna and Willow. Janna stared back with no expression. It was her normal response to anything inappropriate. Willow, though… Willow was worth the price of admission. Her face was already tomato red and closing in on brick red by the second. Faith had even managed to quell the usual babble. Willow’s mouth opened and closed without sound until she resembled a bright red fish.

“I don’t think Janna would share Willow,” Tara murmured into the quiet room. “She growled at me earlier when I mentioned taking Willow on a tour of campus. Triads take extraordinarily sharing participants. It would never work, I’m afraid. Janna is simply too possessive for me.”

“Huh?” Faith spun to face Tara, forgetting to move slowly. This time, there was no holding back the gasp of pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She wanted to hop up and grab for the throbbing areas. And if she’d been alone, Faith would have stripped out of the loose sweatpants she’d pulled on earlier.

While Faith gripped the edge of the table and breathed between gritted teeth, Willow shoved her chair away from the table. “What is wrong with you? You can’t be nice to anyone, can you?”

“Willow.” Janna didn’t raise her voice; however, the snap in that single word was a clear warning. One that any submissive would understand. Faith shuddered at the raw command. It was too soon after Janna’s role in her punishment. Even though she wasn’t Willow and she didn’t belong to Janna, a part of her responded.

The real target of Janna’s ire was too far gone to see the danger she was in. “No, Janna! I’m tired of Faith. Of the way she treats everyone. I’m tired of you telling me I should try to be her friend. I don’t feel sorry for you anymore, Faith. You _asked_ for what happened the other day.”

Willow’s tirade pushed Faith over the edge. She started to her feet. To hell with the way she hurt. She was going to make Willow regret saying she deserved the Council’s punishment. Regret saying she was _tired_ of Faith.

Janna got to Willow first. Her hand shot out, fingers tangling in the delicate leather collar Willow wore. “That is enough, _drag_ _ă._ You embarrass me and yourself.”

Willow’s angry words halted; although, she continued to glare at Faith. Janna might be able to keep her quiet. That didn’t mean she had changed Willow’s mind about Faith.

Faith met Willow’s eyes without a hint of a smirk. Whatever enjoyment she’d taken from scoring a verbal hit on the other girl had drained away the second Janna took Willow to task. In fact, as Janna shoved lunch trash out off the table and pushed Willow face down over the cleared surface, Faith wondered if her sandwich might make a return.

Her stomach clenched, and her face felt weird. Hot and cold at the same time. Faith watched numbly as Janna made quick work of Willow’s jeans and underwear.

“Janna… _Doamnă…_ ” Willow had finally realized Janna meant business. Her eyes went wide and then shot desperately back and forth from Faith to Tara. “Not here. Please. I’m sorry.”

Faith wanted to tell Janna the same thing. She didn’t want to be a witness. Teasing Willow was fun. This was not. Unfortunately, what she wanted didn’t matter. “You chose our venue, little girl. You chose to act like a rude, hurtful brat in to Faith. And you shamed me in front of our guest Tara.  It is only right that you should be punished in here, where they can see.”

Faith had to get out of the kitchen. Now. But running out the door would look… Well, like she was running. She didn’t want to let the others know how much Willow’s coming punishment bothered her. No matter how much Willow’s comments hurt, Faith took no pleasure in what was about to happen. She stayed frozen in place as the first slap of Janna’s hand meeting Willow’s ass filled the room.

As the spanking continued, Faith’s skin twitched with each blow. Her eyes met Willow’s through a haze of tears. Her tears? Or Willow’s?

“Will you show me the rest of the house, Faith?” Tara’s voice was tight, and she didn’t give Faith even a second to fully understand the request. “Please.” She gripped Faith’s wrist, pulling her out of her chair and out of the kitchen. “Thank you,” Tara whispered when they stood in the hallway.

For what? Faith hadn’t done anything. Tara was running the show.

At least they weren’t still there with Janna and Willow. Faith’s mind settled on that. “Yeah. Sure thing.” They continued to stand in the hall with the echoes of Willow’s spanking following them. Faith looked at Tara closely for the first time. Lines of strain tightened the skin around her eyes and a thin film of sweat covered her face. She looked as bad as Faith felt. “Let’s start up top with the offices.” Far enough away that the spanking wouldn’t reach even her enhanced hearing.

Faith’s hand hovered over the small of Tara’s back as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. It was quiet here. Giles was the only one who spent any time up here. Keeping their pace slow – and her eyes on Tara – Faith started the tour. “This is the top floor,” she announced unnecessarily. “Nothing exciting like lingerie or housewares. Just offices.”

Tara was visibly more relaxed now. Faith maintained her mindless patter as they wandered through the various offices. “Don’t know why they call this the Conservatory,” she told Tara when they entered the tiny, cramped space. Dark wood paneling and heavy furniture took up most of the room and only slivers of light made it past the curtains. “More like Giles’ Dungeon.”

“If he put on a smoking jacket and lit up a cigar, he’d look right at home.” Tara glanced at Faith with a suddenly impish expression. “You so have to take a picture if he does. Lord Giles in his Manor.”

Faith had no idea what a smoking jacket might be. However, she thought Tara was cute with her eyes dancing with laughter and the strain gone from her face. “I don’t think Lydia would put up with Lord Giles.”

“Lady Lydia, then, with her well-heeled pet,” Tara announced.

“You got it, T. As soon as Giles plays dress up, I’ll get your picture.” Faith opened the next door. “This is Giles and Red’s…I mean Willow’s favorite room.” She faltered over the name, automatically straining to hear if the punishment was over downstairs. “If she ain’t accidentally turning someone into a rat, you can find her up here.” Stepping aside, she let Tara wander inside the Library. Floor to ceiling shelves covered three walls, with a large window comprising the fourth wall. The room itself spanned half the third floor.

Tara walked around the room, examining the shelves. “This is amazing. Some of these texts are rare.”

Great, another book lover. Resigned to a long wait, Faith gingerly sank into one of the overstuffed wing chairs near the window. It was the height of not-fun to watch Tara pull various books, scrolls, and miscellaneous stuff off each shelf.

After a few minutes, Tara appeared to realize Faith wasn’t enjoying the Library, and she blushed. She ducked behind her hair; the same thing she’d done at the Social. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…You should have s-said…” The words ground to a halt and Tara took a slow breath. “I lost some Dominant points with that, didn’t I?”

She was a funny sort of Dominant. Blushing and shy. “Nah,” Faith assured her. Then, at Tara’s raised eyebrow, she admitted, “Maybe a couple, but you can earn those back, no sweat. Everybody says I got an attitude problem. Feel free to tell me how I should be behavin’; it’ll get ya’ those points back with interest.”

Tara reemerged from beneath her hair. “Nah,” she said with such a poorly imitated Boston accent that Faith had to laugh. In a regular voice, she continued. “Come on. I’m done having raptures over the Library. What else can you show me?”

“Not much up here. Giles keeps his door locked, and he ain’t here to show you his happy place. Got a room for sleeping if research drags on all night. And a room for meetings and shit. Second floor’s all bedrooms and a couple more empty offices for visiting Watchers.” Faith held the door for Tara and ushered her back to the staircase. “Only thing left is the gym.”

“That’s your happy place, I bet.” Faith liked Tara’s smile. It was slow, a little hesitant. As if Tara was considering if she wanted to share it. “Show me, please. It’ll make us even for the way I acted in the Library.”

Faith shrugged. “Your call, T.” She led Tara down the stairs to the large, airy gym. Bright lights bounced off the mirror on one wall. Weapons hung neatly from hooks, and racks of free weights huddled in a corner. “Want me to walk around and pick shit up?”

Eyes narrowing, Tara murmured, “You’re right. You do have an attitude problem.” One finger poked Faith’s arm. “And you’re mean, too.”

“Took ya’ long enough to realize.” Faith pasted on her fiercest scowl. “Run while you can.”

“Oh, I don’t run. It’s too much like working out. Which I don’t do, either.” Tara poked Faith again and then sighed. “I suppose I should, though. The nightlife in Sunnydale isn’t the friendliest.”

Without thinking, Faith said, “I could get…” She bit the rest of the offer back. What the Hell was she doing? She wasn’t staying in Sunnydale any longer than it took to find a way out. Tara could find someone else to set her up with a workout schedule and some basic self defense classes.

“You could get what, Faith?” Tara’s gentleness, the way she gave Faith all of her attention when she spoke, suddenly rubbed Faith the wrong way.

“Nothing.” Spinning on her heel, Faith fled from the gym to her room just down the hall.

***

Staring after Faith in shock, Tara hoped she hadn’t done anything to offend her. Faith was so touchy and angry. With a sigh, she left the gym and returned to the first floor and the kitchen. The remains of lunch were gone. Janna perched on a stool at the island, working on her laptop.

Willow stood in the corner, hands laced behind her head with her well-spanked ass on display above her bunched jeans and underwear.

“Where’s Faith?” Janna looked at Tara closely. Tara thought she might really have meant, “Are you OK? Did she hurt you?”

What had Faith done to make everyone distrust her? Although Faith was definitely on the confrontational side, she hadn’t done anything to make Tara uncomfortable. In fact, there had been a few moments where she’d been downright funny.  “She’s in her room.” Keeping her gaze averted from Willow, Tara took a seat at the table.

The tension from earlier was gone. Janna seemed a little more strained. Tired. She closed the laptop. “I should have mentioned that the Slayer House can be exciting, and not only because we fend off demon and vampire attacks.” Raising her voice slightly, Janna said, “Willow has something she’d like to say to you, Tara.”

No. Goddess, no.

_“Forgive me, Master, for not being ready when you arrived.” Tara’s mother knelt at her father’s feet. More like cowered thanks to the flogging she’d received._

Movement jarred Tara out of the memory. Willow, redressed and sniffing back tears, dropped to her knees in front of her. “I’m really sorry, Tara. Faith can make me mad sometimes, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper and ruined lunch.” Her breath hitched in a sob as she raised her eyes and gazed imploringly at Tara.

“Thank you, Willow.” Tara’s throat was tight. Pushing through the constriction, she told Willow sincerely, “You’re apology is accepted.” Willow had paid for her thoughtless comments.

Willow’s answering smile was so bright it rivaled the sun. She scrubbed a hand over her face, wiping away the fresh tears.

“That was a very pretty apology, _drag_ _ă._ ” Janna held out her arms when Willow turned to look at her. A second later, she held Willow in a tight hug. “I’m proud of you.” She brushed light kisses over Willow’s hair, never releasing her hold.

The cold knot lingering in Tara’s stomach melted. Her father had _never_ been proud of her mother. He’d certainly never held her after a punishment, offering love and comfort. She waited while Janna and Willow cuddled.

“Where did you and Faith disappear to?” Janna finally asked. She released Willow and pointed to the floor. With a huff marred by a tiny grin, Willow dropped to her knees and leaned against the stool legs. Janna’s hand absently combed through her tangled red hair.

“She gave me a tour of the house. I’m afraid I scared her with my love of books.” Tara whispered the confession dramatically.

Willow giggled. “You’d scare anyone who’s a Slayer. They’re allergic to books and research. Buffy tries. Faith does, too. Sometimes. But once they get bored, you better watch out. They started sparring near Giles’ Special Collection a few weeks ago and I thought he’d have a heart attack.”

“Giles is always close to a coronary,” Janna added irreverently. “Now, since Tara’s seen the inside of the House, let’s take her out to the grounds and show her _our_ favorite place, _drag_ _ă._ ” Janna slid off the stool and helped Willow to her feet. “The Magical Workroom is at the far end of the property in a specially-warded structure. Since we teach so many beginner classes… Well, the Council is too cheap to repair the main House for every magical accident we might have.”

Tara took that to mean “accidents” happened often. “Ready when you are. It’s been a few years since I’ve done anything more than simple rituals.” Like the one she’d been finishing in the park the morning Janna claimed to have seen her. Tara hoped her blush didn’t show too much, and she prayed to the Goddess that she’d been dressed by the time Willow and Janna had taken their shortcut for doughnuts.

She followed her hosts out to the patio where she’d spoken to Althenea. Faith was there, no longer in her room, glowering at the flowers in the planter boxes. Tara’s footsteps lagged. Faith looked so miserable. So alone.

As if Faith sensed Tara’s intent, she glanced up. A heartbeat later, she turned back to the terribly offending flowers. The dismissal was clear.

Tara trotted to catch up with Willow and Janna. If Faith wanted to be alone, Tara wouldn’t force her to join them.


	7. Chapter 7

“How did your lunch thing go? Did you get to meet more hot Slayers?” Trish shrugged at Tara’s reproving frown. “What? I’m bonded, not dead.”

“And you are seriously trying to distract me,” Tara said waspishly. It wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t going to somehow forget how insane Trish’s latest idea was. The paddle in her hand was heavy and awkward. And the “sub” on the bed was plain disturbing.

Trish wouldn’t back down, though. “You need to stop worrying about looking silly and swing that paddle, woman. I swear, if you don’t, I’ll put _you_ over the bed and give a demonstration.” She met Tara’s glare with a raised eyebrow. “While you’re punishing your sub, you can tell me about this afternoon.”

“My sub is a pillow wrapped in duct tape to make it butt-shaped!” Swinging the paddle at the aforementioned pillow didn’t take the edge off Tara’s frustration or her embarrassment.

She’d finally found Trish’s limits, though. No longer teasing, Trish pointed at Tara. “If you pulled that shit with a real submissive, I really would put you over this bed.” Advancing on Tara, Trish yanked the paddle from her hand. “ _This_ can damage a sub if _you_ aren’t paying attention. What if that pillow was Maxie? What would happen if I got mad and lashed out the way you did? What would it do to her?”

Tara took a step away and closed her eyes. She didn’t have to imagine Maxie over the bed. She’d lived with a man who lashed out and didn’t care. “I’m sorry.” This was a bad idea. Maybe Althenea’s vision had been wrong. Maybe Tara didn’t have to confront her fear of Dominating someone.

“Tar, you can do this, I swear,” Trish said encouragingly. She prodded Tara with the end of the paddle until she opened her eyes. “We all have to do this. It’s a standard activity in Proper Punishment classes. We all giggled and blushed and felt like idiots, too. But when you’re standing behind your real submissive, waiting to swing this paddle or a crop, you’ll be glad you put up with a little embarrassment.”

“You know I don’t plan on finding a submissive, right?” Holding out her hand, Tara gave in. After all, she _had_ asked Trish to help her learn to be a good Dominant.

“Fate can be a bitch. She rarely listens to what we want – or plan.” Trish wandered across the room and sat down on a large ottoman. “So swing the paddle like you mean it and tell me about today.”

Tara confronted the pillow with resolve. No, not the pillow. Her submissive. She’d never be able to do this correctly if she wasn’t in the right headspace. It wasn’t a pillow. It was…Willow, the way she’d been at lunch. Bared and bent over the table, waiting for Tara to punish her.

The paddle barely landed against “Willow” with a slight puffing sound, and Tara almost threw it onto the floor. No. Definitely no. She couldn’t paddle Willow. She was too young. Too innocent. Too…something.

“Not bad. A little high, though. Aim for the lower portion of the pillow. It has more cushion and the risk of real, or bad, pain is less. If you want to add some extra power or sting, flick your wrist right before impact,” Trish advised.

Not Willow. Tara repeated that and tried to imagine another submissive bent over in front of her. Xander was too sweet and goofy. Giles too old. Maxie belonged to Trish.

“Tar?” Trish asked. “You aren’t getting cold feet again, are you?”

“No. Sorry.” Tara rolled her shoulders and mentally guided Faith over the bed. Willow had been punished for her attitude and comments to Faith at lunch. Faith should have been punished as well. She’d actually instigated the verbal fight. The paddle landed with more resolve the next time Tara swung. She worked her way from left to right and back again.

Something still wasn’t right, though. Faith had picked that fight with Willow. Why? She’d seemed so lost and alone when she let down her guard. Maybe there was a reason behind her actions. Tara’s paddle strikes slowed and eased; she lightened the force and flicked her wrist the way Trish had mentioned. She didn’t need to hurt Faith too much; she simply wanted to encourage her to come clean about her motivations.

“Nice, Tar. Those last few were really good. Right on target.” Trish’s voice brought Tara out of her mini-trance. “You need to do this every day for at least a few weeks until the motion is natural. Then just practice a couple times a week. How did it feel?”

“Good.” Shockingly good and _right._ Panic tried to set in and was rebuffed by the warm glow of Domme space. If Tara felt like that after a few minutes paddling a pillow, what would it be like with an actual submissive? Her _own_ submissive? She sat on the bed to hide the sudden weakness in her knees.

Trish joined her, playfully bumping their shoulders. “Good is better than bad. You didn’t faint or scream. You seemed really comfortable at the end. I say this was a successful lesson. You ready for the next?”

“There’s a next?” Tara managed to tease. “I’m not a real Domme now?”

“You’ve _been_ a real Domme.” Again, Trish surprised Tara with her serious response. “No one puts a marker on their left wrist without an inner need – and a talent – for Dominance. You hid from yours, with good reason. We’re simply finding a way to wake your talents up again. So, are you ready to take the next step?”

Trish’s faith in her ability settled something deep inside Tara. Calm washed through her, along with anticipation. “Yes.”

“Good. Maxie and I are heading to a friend’s place for dinner. I’ll let them know you’re joining us. It will be a perfect way for you to see how other dynamics work,” Trish announced. She hopped up and held out a hand for Tara. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided telling me about your lunch. I’ll find a way to make you talk.”

***

“Have you been out here all day?” Buffy breezed onto the patio, disturbing the uneasy doze Faith had finally managed to achieve. “Mom sent over homemade lasagna and garlic bread. Come inside and have dinner.”

Faith’s stomach thought that was a wonderful idea. Half a sandwich was an appetizer for a Slayer. Too bad Faith and her stomach weren’t on the same page. “I’m good here.”

Buffy sighed impatiently. “Look, Faith. We go through this every time the Council sentences you to a punishment session. You pout and glower. The session’s over. Learn from it and move on.”

“Move on?” Faith climbed out of the chair stiffly and crossed the few feet between them. “You got a plan for that, B? A way to get the fucking bruises to fade faster? To get the Council to let me do more than sit out here and watch grass grow?”

“I…I tried to get them to let you off with the caning.” Buffy slumped against the planter box. “They wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry. I did the best I could, but damn it, Faith! What…” Pressing her lips together, Buffy stopped talking.

It didn’t matter. Faith knew what she’d been about to say. Faith pushed the Council’s buttons because she wouldn’t follow their stupid rules. She didn’t hang around the House pretending to be a role model for the townies. She drank and smoked and didn’t care who knew. Buffy, like Willow, thought Faith deserved what the Council dished out.

“If you don’t want to eat, do you want to spar? I don’t have to leave for patrol for another hour or so.” Buffy had mastered her anger and was back to being Faith’s best friend.

Faith didn’t want or need a friend, best or otherwise. “I’m busy,” she lied with a straight face. In her present condition, Buffy would wipe the mat with her even faster than normal.

“Come on, Faith. Please.” Buffy reached out a hand and then let it drop when Faith stepped back. “Alright. Dinner’s in the ‘fridge. I’ll be back after patrol to file my report with Giles. If you need anything…”

Buffy was seriously deluded. Faith would slit her own throat before she asked Buffy for more than the time of day. She remained stonily silent until Buffy stalked away. Faith waited a few minutes. She had to be sure.

The faint sound of the front door slamming closed was her trigger.

Re-entering the House, Faith hurried upstairs. She might not be able to leave tonight, but the time would come. And she’d be ready. Traveling light was a way of life. Faith carefully rolled up a single pair of jeans, a change of underwear and socks, and a T-shirt. The clothes went into the bottom of backpack. She added a couple of daggers and stakes.

Her “Get Out of Jail” package was complete. With one important exception. Faith needed money, and it wasn’t going to be easy to steal any. Giles’ office door had a magically-alarmed lock. When she’d first arrived in Sunnydale, Faith had searched the rest of the House. There wasn’t even a dollar stashed in the cookie jar.

She’d have to deal with the lack of funds later. Worst-case scenario, she could roll someone on the way out of town.  Her stomach growled, and this time Faith listened. She returned to the kitchen and shoved the large plate of lasagna into the microwave.

And that’s when Faith heard the front door open and close. She stormed toward the foyer. “Jesus, B. Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t need…”

“Hey! Not Buffy. Can you dial down the potential violence? I’m not built to take it.” Xander lacked his usual comedic flair. In fact, he seemed ready to cry. “Buffy’s not here?”

“You ain’t got to ask me that. She’s in your fucking head.” Faith spun around with the intention of finally eating dinner. She didn’t care about Xander and Buffy’s bonding issues.

Unfortunately, Xander followed her to the kitchen. “Actually, I do,” he muttered. “Ask you, I mean.” He sounded absolutely miserable. “I think Buffy got Willow to show her how to block the link. I haven’t been able to hear or feel her since the Social.”

Shit. Faith hovered in the middle of the kitchen. Why was he telling her all this? Surely he didn’t think she cared?

“It hurts so much, Faith. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I don’t understand.” Xander didn’t bother with a chair. He sank to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Has she said anything to you? Talked about me at all?”

“Ah, X-Man, come on. You know Buffy doesn’t talk to me like that. You shoulda gone to Willow if you wanted information.” The microwave chimed, but Faith moved toward Xander and not her dinner. She knew what it was like to be hurt. She sat down next to him and leaned back on her hands.

Buffy hadn’t shown any signs of losing her bond when she’d been at the House earlier. “Are you sure she did it on purpose? What if something happened?” Faith thought Buffy was a pain in the ass, but hurting Xander deliberately? It was out of character.

Xander buried his face against his knees, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Ah, Hell, Xan.” Faith scooted closer and awkwardly patted his back. “It ain’t that bad. Buffy’ll wake up and see she’s got a great guy for her sub.” The comment made Faith roll her eyes.

They worked magic on Xander, though. His expression was a mix of hope and utter disbelief. “You think so?”

Faith chose the safest path. “If I was a Domme, I’d be showing you off to everyone,” she told him. “You’re hot; you’re funny; and even Giles thinks you’re a big part of the team.” It didn’t take a genius to see that Xander needed Giles’ approval almost as much as he needed Buffy’s fucking collar.

“And I’d be strutting because I had your collar, Faith.” His eyes were soft and still damp from his tears.

“We’d be the hottest couple in Slayer history.” Standing, Faith held out a hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up. If I’m gonna collar you, you can’t have dried snot and shit all over.”

Xander’s laugh was good to hear. And his smile was normal and goofy. “I met a Dom at last year’s Social. He told me that seeing tearstains and streaky mascara on a submissive was a turn on. That it showed he’d done a good job during a scene. You don’t feel the same way?”

“Xan, you start wearing mascara and I’m ditching your ass. I want my boy to look all manly; makeup’s for the girls.” They walked slowly toward the stairs. “You can use my bathroom. Take a shower if you want. Relax and wash up.”

“Thanks.” He leaned into Faith as they climbed the stairs. Faith found herself supporting him, murmuring encouragement to keep him moving. “You sure you don’t mind if I shower?”

For an answer, Faith did her best Domme impression and pointed at the en suite bathroom door. “Get naked, stud. If I don’t hear you singing in the shower fast enough, I’ll come wash you myself.” An image of them, naked under the shower spray, flashed through Faith’s mind. Oh, yeah. That would be a whole lot of fun. She could push him back against the tiles, hold his hands over his head…

Xander didn’t notice her distraction. “Thanks, Faith,” he said again before going into the bathroom and closing the door.

Faith stared at the door, mind and body in turmoil. She needed her head examined. Buffy would kill her dead for even _thinking_ about Xander as a fuck buddy. Deciding she needed to leave before she did something stupid, Faith strode for the door. Xander could find her once he was squeaky clean and completely dressed.

When the sound of choked, muffled sobs overrode the patter of running water, though, Faith cursed. “Xan? You OK in there, stud?”

Sobbing was her only answer.

Faith didn’t hesitate. Screw Buffy and the possibility of dying. Faith walked into the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain to find Xander huddled on the floor of the tub. “Ah, stud.” With quick movements, she undressed and stepped under the water with him. “I got you. It’ll be alright,” she told him.

He inched closer and leaned into her legs.

One of Faith’s hands stroked through his wet hair for a minute. Then Faith gently tugged. “Get up, Xan.”

Responding instantly, Xander rose. His eyes, still so soft and warm, begged silently for Faith’s help.

“I’m right here.” Some deeply buried instinct drove Faith. It told her what to do, what to say. “I’m right here and I won’t leave you, Xan. You know why? Because I _want_ to be with you. And you want me to be here, right?”

Xander nodded.

It wasn’t enough. Faith was about to cross a very big line. “I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to stay,” she ordered him.

“Yes, Faith. Please stay. Don’t leave me.” Xander was so earnest, and his plea struck a chord in Faith.

Pushing him back against the shower wall, Faith raised both his hands and rested them against the cool tile. “These don’t move; understand, stud? I want them to stay right here while I show you just how much I want you.” The way Buffy should have done over and over.

“Yes, Faith.” Oh, man. Faith could get used to that. Xander’s eyes were locked on her as if she was the most important thing in his world.

She rewarded his compliance by fondling his cock and balls. Her teeth found his nipples, nipping and pulling in time with her hand as she settled into a smooth stroke. He hardened at her touch, and his groan echoed in the small shower stall.

“Look at you, stud. All hot and hard. You’re gonna give me one hell of a ride, aren’t you?” With a practiced move, she twisted her hand around the head of his cock. It twitched and Xander’s hips thrust forward. “Don’t get ahead of me, Xan. You don’t get to finish until I tell you.”

This time when he groaned, Faith smiled evilly. “It could be worse. If you move your hands or do anything I didn’t tell you to do, you won’t get to come at all. Understand?”

“Yes, Faith.” Xander’s voice cracked as he begged. “Please, please, Faith. Please tell me what you want. I’ll do anything. Anything you want, Ma’am.”

Faith jerked at the honorific and then shuddered as Xander’s submission filled her with a heady sense of power. He was _hers_ for the night. “Keep yourself hard, stud. I have to grab something.” She stepped out of the shower, uncaring of the water already covering the floor from her entry and the new puddles she left as she exited. Xander’s clothes were on the floor and she rooted through the pockets and his wallet. Yes! Ripping the condom packet open, she hopped back under the water – and stopped in awe.

Xander fisted his cock in long, hard strokes with one hand. The other remained raised and flush with the tile. “Good boy, Xan. Get back into position and let me take care of you.” Obedience was slower this time. Xander took another pull at his erection before his visibly shaking hand joined the other against the wall.

If he was half as turned on as Faith was, his actions were understandable. Faith let it slide. She pulled the condom from the open package and deftly rolled in onto his cock. “OK, stud. I’m going to climb on.” Putting her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist set her flush against him. She used the opportunity to grind against him. The friction was nearly too much. “Put your cock in me, Xan. Hurry.” Need made her voice sharp and demanding.

“Yes. Yes, Faith.” Xander was panting and his hips moved restlessly. His cock bumped against her as he reached between them.

Finally, he slid inside. “Fuck!” Faith clenched around him, enjoying the full feeling and the hint of pain from his length. “Let’s see how good you really are, stud. I’m ready to ride.” Using her legs for leverage, she pushed back and forth, up and down on his cock. The heat in the shower was unbearable. Steam filled the room and Faith’s lungs as she sucked in air. Sweat and water coated her body.

She could feel him grow longer. “Please…I can’t…Faith…”

“It’s OK, stud. I’m right there, too.” Faith slammed down on his cock and held on. “Come with me, Xan.” Before she’d finished the command, Xander shouted hoarsely. She felt him shudder in time with her own climax.

Completely drained, Faith slid off Xander. He staggered and his knees buckled. Holding him upright, she waited until he seemed stable. “Got to clean you up real quick, stud.” There was no playtime now. Faith dragged the soap over his body and shoved him under the spray. She repeated the actions on her own body.

Xander was totally pliant now. His eyes were a little glassy, too. Faith dried them both and led him to the bedroom. “Lay down, stud.” Despite the fact that Faith had never before shared a bed with a sexual partner, she couldn’t leave Xander alone. He was too far gone in subspace. Pushing her unease aside, Faith slid into bed next to him and pulled up the sheet. Faith stroked a hand over his back for a long time until his breathing evened out in sleep.

He’d be fine now. Faith quickly rolled out of bed. Then she stopped and watched Xander sleep for a moment. He looked so young. At least he also appeared more relaxed than when he’d arrived at the House. He’d be fine now. Faith grabbed a change of clothes and headed for one of the guest rooms a few doors down the hall.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Voices woke Faith. Doors slammed up and down the hallway outside her room. What now? Getting up, she pulled on her dirty clothes and started for the door. It flew open before she got there.

“Who the Hell do you think you are?” Buffy shouted. She grabbed Faith and threw her across the room and into a wall. “Xander is _mine._ He wears _my marker_.” As Faith struggled to stand, Buffy stalked over and picked her up again.

Fear pulsed through Faith with each frantic beat of her heart. She’d never seen Buffy this out of control, this enraged. “B…” she gasped, “it wasn’t like that.” Faith had only been trying to help. “Did you talk to Xander?” The hands in her shirt tightened until the material ripped, and Buffy’s fingers punched through. Faith felt Buffy’s knuckles against her chest.

“I could kill you right now and no one would do anything,” Buffy threatened.

That was it. Faith wasn’t reasoning with Buffy any more. She was fighting for her life. She kicked Buffy in the stomach with everything she had. Buffy let go of her shirt and doubled over so Faith followed up with a quick punch to the side of Buffy’s head.

Buffy stumbled, and Faith seized the opening. Vaulting over Buffy, she ran for the door – only to be tackled from behind. They tumbled into the hallway, a rolling mass of arms and legs. Faith’s head slammed into the floor, and Buffy’s fist slammed into her face several times. When they stopped moving (walls made really hard safety nets), Faith writhed and wiggled in a desperate bid for freedom.

Her bid failed.

Buffy held her pinned to the wall, hands locked around her throat.

She was barely conscious when someone pulled Buffy away. Slumping to the floor, Faith heard Giles demand through the ringing in her ears,  “What the bloody Hell are you doing?”

“Faith slept with my sub,” Buffy spat back.

If Faith had been able, she would have protested that last part. Xander might be bonded to Buffy, but he wasn’t collared. Until then, he didn’t actually belong to Buffy.

Luckily, Faith didn’t have to say anything. As she sucked in harsh, painful breaths, Xander stepped in and spoke up. “ _Am_ I your sub, Buffy? _Am I_?”  As Faith slowly picked herself off the floor, Xander squared off with Buffy in the hall. All traces of the sad, desperate young man from earlier were gone. He stood tall and resolute in front of Buffy. His posture said he wasn’t backing down. Xander was getting answers from Buffy.

Faith felt an odd sense of pride in him.

“The link’s gone. I can’t feel you anymore.” Raising his right wrist to show off the un-stamped black cuff, Xander asked, “Should I exchange this for a Red Cuff? Did you Forsake me, Buffy? Because that’s what it feels like.”

Buffy turned deathly pale. Faith had seen vampires with more color. Ignoring her various aches and pains, she walked unsteadily toward the pair. Maybe if she smacked them both on the head, they’d realize they were being stupid and go find a bed to fuck in.

She never made it. Giles grabbed her roughly. “You will not interfere,” he said with quiet intensity. “You have already done quite enough.” Guiding her to the staircase, he continued his lecture. “We have all given you the benefit of the doubt. Argued with the Council against rehabilitation or deactivation. And you do _this_ to repay us. To repay Buffy who has been your most vocal defender.”

Faith wrenched away but Giles grabbed her again and manhandled her down the stairs. “I am at my wits end with you, young woman. I had hoped that you would find your place here. Rather than becoming a part of this family, however, you continue to act as you will with no thought to anyone else.”

Giles was wrong. Faith _had_ been thinking of someone else. She’d been thinking of Xander. She managed to pull away and run down the stairs, fleeing Giles’ disappointment and the realization that no one would believe she hadn’t slept with Xander to hurt him and Buffy.

***

The cream in Tara’s coffee muddied the dark color. Wryly, she realized the swirling mixture matched her own confused thoughts.

“Earth to Tara. You with us? Or are you reading the coffee beans to see the future?” Trish teased.

“I think this shape here is called the Joker.” Without looking up, Tara pointed to a particular splash of color. “It means Fate is laughing at me.” Tara wished she could laugh. It might stave off the tears that were threatening. She felt them burning her eyes and prayed they stayed hidden.

Maxie stole the cup from Tara’s hands. “I took a class in this last semester. Let me try.” She peered into the coffee with a fierce frown. “No. You’re wrong. That shape? It’s the Train. Similar to Thomas the Train Engine, remember? It’s a reminder you just have to keep chugging along to make it up that big hill.”

“Thomas went off the tracks,” Tara muttered. She was too tired to keep chugging. She wanted to pull into the station and let someone else take over as the engineer.

“No, he didn’t.” Trish tossed a packet of sugar across the table, and it bounced off Tara’s shoulder. “What’s got you all twisted up? Did something happen at dinner?”

Reclaiming her coffee from Maxie, Tara replayed events from their night out. “Dinner was fine. I just…I don’t know.” Actually, she did know. She was simply afraid to admit it to them.

“Don’t make me figure it out on my own,” Trish warned.

A half-second later, Maxie took over the conversation. “You don’t have to figure it out, oh Great Lady. This is Tara. Our best friend is famous for not believing in herself. Does this sound about right, Tar? You watched all the couples at the party and suddenly realized you couldn’t do what they do. All those confident, self-assured Dominants giving commands and expecting them to be obeyed. No one ever seemed unsure or embarrassed. Why would they? They were _real_ Dominants.”

The comments, no matter how much gentle good humor went into them, stung.

_“You’re a Dominant?” Tara’s father laughed, the sound filling their cavernous kitchen. “I should take that marker off your wrist and beat the lie out of you. You’ll never be more than a pathetic sub like your whore of a mother. Look at you! Who’s going to kneel for a sniveling, stuttering wreck like you?”_

Tara’s hand shook so badly that coffee spilled onto the table. Setting the cup down, she grabbed napkins to clean up – and to hide her reaction to the memory of her father’s scorn.

Two hands rushed to help her. Both then covered Tara’s hand and gripped tightly in support. “Everyone who says Dominance is natural, that you either have it or you don’t, is full of shit,” Trish said quietly. “Maybe there are a few Dominants who can walk into a room and send subs dropping to their knees. I’ve never met them. Everyone I know, including most of the people at dinner tonight, had to learn what worked and what didn’t.”

“And don’t forget.” Maxie wiggled their joined hands until Tara glanced at her. “Submissives _need_ control and structure. It gives you an edge.”

“I know it’s more than that,” Tara disagreed. “If I walked into a room and gave you a command, Maxie, what would you do?” Narrowing her eyes, she dared Maxie to lie.

“Well, if you used that expression right there,” Maxie pointed at Tara with her free hand, “I’d do whatever you wanted.”

What expression? Tara considered banging her head on the table. This was so confusing.

“Before you start beating yourself up again, let’s talk about tonight.” Trish pulled her ever-present backpack from underneath the table and dug out a notebook and pen. With quick strokes, she drew a series of rows and columns on a blank page: Dominant, Pro, Con. “Which Dominant did you most want to be?”

It sounded like a bizarre game show question. “Contestant Number One, if you could be any Dominant in history, which would you choose?”

The prize for a correct answer wouldn’t be a million dollars, though. Still, Tara thought about the people at the party. “Brian,” she finally answered and watched Trish write his name in the first Dominant box. “He wasn’t demanding or arrogant. He was polite.” In fact, he’d always phrased his commands as requests. Please and thank you. “And I thought the way he made his Sue do some of his work was interesting.”

When Sue had gotten bratty, sticking her tongue out and mimicking Brian’s request, he’d raised an eyebrow and asked, “What did we discuss last week about this type of behavior?” There had been nothing overtly threatening about the question. In fact, Brian had conveyed a hint of disappointment. Sue had turned bright red and immediately dropped her chin – and the behavior stopped.

“Brian’s the best,” Maxie said. She patted Trish’s hand. “Not better than you, Trish. I’d go crazy with all the questions. Give me the direct approach any day. But his style suits Tara. I can easily imagine her pinning her sub with a weary ‘how could you do this to me?’ look and asking, ‘do you remember our conversation from last week?’” She shivered. “Crap, just thinking about it makes me want to kneel.”

With a disgruntled sniff, Trish went back to her chart. “From best to worst. Which Dominant was a complete turn off?”

This one was easy. “Monica. She reminded me of my father. She gave orders and never praise.” Several times, Tara had had to restrain herself from interfering.

“Yeah, she can be hard to take,” Trish agreed. “She’s really not as bad as you think, though. She and Drew have a unique dynamic. He’s a masochist He gets off on the rough stuff, and humiliation is a big bonus. The way she treats him is part of their contract. Tonight was actually pretty tame. The last dungeon party they attended, she made him crawl behind her with a sign hung around his neck.” She grimaced. “Monica’s Pain Slut. Please hurt me.”

“I’ve had lunch with Drew a few times.” Maxie sipped her coffee. “He’s very sweet and he absolutely adores Monica. I may not understand what they do, but it works for them. It doesn’t have to work for you, Tara.”

Good thing. There was no way Tara would ever treat a submissive that way. “You should be on the chart, too, Trish.” Tara enjoyed Trish’s slight flush and her pleased wiggle. “Maxie’s a person to you, not just a sub. You let her speak her mind and be part of conversations. Within boundaries.”

“Maxie’s not only a person, she’s my friend,” Trish answered. A happy smile blossomed when Maxie moved from her chair and climbed into Trish’s lap. “The key is…?” She waited expectantly for Tara to fill in the blanks.

“It works for you.” Tara had to laugh. Trish was a good teacher; she doled out information yet pushed Tara to think beyond the current lesson. “You’re telling me I can take notes and try out things I think I like. When it comes right down to it, though, I won’t know what my dynamic will be until I figure out what works for me and my sub.”

Peering over Maxie’s head, which was tucked securely beneath her chin, Trish advised Tara. “Mock not, I say, young Dominant. Focus your powers, you will.”

“Oh, stop!” Tara hurled the sugar packet back at Trish. “That’s terrible.” She would have said more about Trish’s sense of humor except sharp pains suddenly exploded in her face and ribs. Gasping, Tara grabbed her cheek and bent protectively forward.

As suddenly as they arrived, the pains were gone.

“Tara?” Maxie and Trish stared at her with wide eyes.

“I don’t…” The pain was back, worse this time because Tara hadn’t fully recovered from the first occurrence. She could still hear Maxie and Trish talking to her. Asking questions. But she couldn’t answer. The pain ballooned, this time in her throat, and then settled into a dull sullen throb eclipsed by a heady mix of rage and resentment.

The emotions were so foreign to Tara that she automatically strengthened her mental shields. It helped; the overwhelmingly strong emotions faded slightly. Tara was able to straighten and take a series of calming breaths. And finally the feelings disappeared entirely.

While Tara did an internal check on her shields, Trish cleared her throat. “You know how you were worried about being a good Domme? And how you didn’t want to find a submissive?”

“Mmm.” Most of Tara’s attention was devoted to finding the source of the mental attack.

“You don’t have a choice anymore,” Trish announced. “We’re going to have to speed you through Dominance 101 all the way to the final courses.”

There were no leaks or holes in her shielding. Tara would have to cast a full Circle and pull everything down. Rebuild from the ground up. “What?” Blinking to readjust to using regular sight rather than internal Sight, she tried to make sense of Trish’s comments. “One dinner party and a chart is enough to pass me through all the basics?”

“No.” Trish’s smile was oddly sympathetic. She set Maxie on her feet and leaned across the table. “Tell me. When you grabbed your face, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Tara didn’t bother going into a full explanation regarding possible magical attacks.

“I do,” Trish said, surprising Tara. “You suddenly felt something. Some pain or emotion out of the blue. It was there and then it was gone, am I right?”

Foreboding filled Tara. She wasn’t going to like what Trish had to say. “Yes.”

“Congratulations, Tar.” Toasting Tara with her coffee cup, Trish continued. “You’ve just been bonded. What you felt? That’s the bond beginning to form; you felt something from your sub.”


	9. Chapter 9

“A bond?” Tara echoed. Then followed that up with an equally dazed, “Sub?”

Trish took Tara’s hand and patted it gently. “I know the classes say the bond happens all at once, fully formed. Reality isn’t so perfect. Sometimes one or both of the bondmates isn’t open to the bond. They can block it, intentionally or subconsciously. In cases where one bondmate is in a high-stress or high-emotion situation, the other bondmate may get flashes through the developing link.”

That wasn’t good. What Tara had felt had been excruciating pain and killing rage. Her sub was in trouble. Her sub. Tara wanted to hide under the table and shout the news from the rooftops all at the same time. Goddess, she wasn’t ready for this.

“I can hear the gerbil-wheel in her head turning,” Maxie said. She made no effort to hide her comment. “And…is that smoke?” She sniffed a few times.

“Don’t be mean, little girl.” Trish came to Tara’s defense. “You have no idea what happens to a Dominant when the bond forms. The moment you feel the bond, even the _hint_ of a thought from your submissive, you can’t think of anything else. That sub is _yours._ Yours to treasure and protect and love and train and a million other things. But mostly yours. Where are you going to live? How are you going to support both of you? What if they’re sick? Or scared? What if they don’t want to be bonded and they repudiate you? It’s exhausting and terrifying.”

Tara couldn’t agree more. “What am I going to do?”

“First, you have to stop panicking. It won’t do any good.” Trish, the Voice of Experience. “Then we keep working on your confidence and skills. For all we know, he or she won’t find you for years.”

“What?” Tara came out of her chair. She couldn’t wait years. Not now. Her submissive needed her.

Maxie stood, too. “Come on, Tara. Let’s get you home. You’re so wound up now, caffeine and sugary goodness are the last things you need.”

***

Damn Xander and his big doe eyes. Storming out of the House, Faith wished she’d skipped dinner and hidden in her room. Better yet, she should have told Xander to grow the fuck up and tell Buffy to bed him or let him go. But no. No. She had to try and help him. Why? Because she was stupid. She should have known better. The whole Sunnydale crew thought she was worthless; of course, they’d expect the worst when they found out she’d slept with Xander.  
  
Damn all of them! She was done with Sunnydale. It didn’t matter that her recently-packed bag was still in her bedroom. She was a fair hand at hot-wiring. And she could swipe clothes and money before leaving town. The best place to do her shopping would be downtown.

Anger improved even Slayer speed. She sprinted through darkened streets, using backyards as shortcuts. Why waste time? Faith had made up her mind. Sunnydale would be a blip in the rear view mirror by sunrise. It took only minutes to reach downtown. Here, at least, there were people on the streets. Just a few, though. Only the very hardy or the very stupid risked becoming vampire chow by staying out after dark.   
  
Faith didn’t care which category the old guy in front of the movie theater fell into. She needed to make a withdrawal from the bank and he looked like the perfect teller. Slowing her pace, Faith moved up behind him - and accidentally slipped. Momentum carried her forward into her mark and they both tumbled to the ground. “Hey, my bad. I’m sorry.” With her most charming smile firmly in place, Faith scrambled up and held out her hand.  
  
“I was about to say you might watch where you were going,” the man said as he let Faith help him up. He didn’t notice she’d also helped herself to the wallet in his jacket pocket. “But then I realized you had more important things on your mind than a wandering old man taking up the sidewalk. You must be Faith, right?”   
  
“Uh, yeah.” Faith wanted to stomp her feet in frustration. He knew who she was. Once he realized his wallet was missing, he’d send the police to the Slayer House and the hunt would be on.   
  
“We missed each other at the Winter Social. I’m Richard Wilkins III.” Still smiling, Richard took her hand again and pumped it up and down. “Oh, you don’t recognize me. How refreshing! I’m the Mayor of Sunnydale.”  
  
The Mayor of Sunnydale. Absolutely fucking perfect. Wallet burning a hole in her pocket, Faith tried not to panic. This was absolutely the wrong time to cut and run. “Nice to meet you.” She dared a quick glance at his wrists. “Sir,” she tacked on with as much reverence as she could muster when she saw his Dominant marker. Which wasn’t a lot; the word came out flat and abrupt.   
  
“What a polite young woman.” Without asking for her permission, Richard wrapped his arm around Faith and walked them in the direction of the Slayer House.   
  
Faith dragged her feet. She had to fix this. Fast. Before going ass up for Janna again was the least of her worries. If the Council found out she’d stolen from the Mayor of fucking Sunnydale, they’d probably do a lot worse than beat her or lock her up. “Hey, I think you dropped something.” Praying Slayer speed disguised her sleight of hand, Faith unloaded the wallet onto the ground and pretended to pick it up. “This yours?”  
  
The Mayor’s eyes widened comically and he patted down all of his pockets. “It is! It is.” Plucking the wallet from her hand, he checked its contents. “And everything is there. Well, except for this.” He pulled a fifty dollar bill out and handed it to Faith. “You hear so many terrible things about the next generation. Your generation, Faith,” Richard clarified. “They have no manners and they lack necessary life skills. But not you.”   
  
Something weird happened then. Faith blushed and ducked her head. Her chest felt...light. “Thank you, Sir.”   
  
Regarding her closely, the Mayor gently touched her shoulder. “No, Faith. You don’t have to call me Sir. But I thank you for the respect. Why don’t you call me Richard unless we have company? And then Mr. Mayor will do.”  
  
“Sure. Richard.” Used to creating nicknames for the people around her - usually to annoy them - Faith found it very difficult to use the Mayor’s first name.  
  
“So where were you headed in such a hurry? And what is this?” He brushed the lapels of her jacket aside and glanced at the rips in her shirt. “Are you hurt?”

Crap. She’d forgotten that Buffy had nearly stripped her naked when they’d been fighting. Moving back, Faith flashed the Mayor a smile. “I’m fine. Guess that last vamp got a little closer than I thought.”

He didn’t buy her explanation immediately. In fact, tilted his head and peered at her as if he could read her mind. After a long minute, he finally relaxed. “I’m very glad he only damaged your shirt.”

Faith quickly buttoned her jacket to hide the tears.  

Richard steered Faith toward the Espresso Pump. “Since you’ve already been out saving the world, something I understand is common in your line of work, would you join me for a coffee? My treat, of course. And one of the Pump’s delicious muffins.”  
  
Faith’s stomach growled audibly. She’d never retrieved the lasagna from the microwave. “Are you sure? ‘Cause Slayers eat a lot. I don’t want to spend all your money on muffins.”  
  
“Nonsense, Faith. The city should be happy to have you here protecting us all. What are a few muffins for a hero?” Richard opened the door and pulled Faith aside as a group of women exited.   
  
One of them was Tara, but she didn’t appear to notice Faith. One of Tara’s friends was saying, “...calm down. What are you going to do, Tar? Run through the streets of Sunnydale looking? What if he or she isn’t even here?” Her voice faded away as they walked down the sidewalk.  
  
Following the Mayor inside, Faith scanned the menu. She’d only been here a few times. Not enough to know the menu. Richard, though, moved up to the counter like a man on a mission. “I’d like an extra large hot chocolate and a dozen assorted muffins, please.” He gestured to Faith. “And whatever my young friend is having as well.”

Faith wasn’t a coffee drinker. In fact, she hated it. “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

“A girl after my own heart.” The Mayor seemed like a big kid as he beamed at the barista. “And, hey, you wouldn’t have any of those little marshmallows, too?” While they waited for the order, Richard talked to Faith. “I met a Mr. Giles, I think his name was, at the Winter Social. Nice man. A bit stiff for my taste, though. He mentioned you’d recently moved to Sunnydale. Where did you grow up? Or were you reassigned from another city? I know I should keep better track of things like this, but… Well, I’ll try to do better from now on.”

“Boston.” The biggest Hellhole on the planet. Even Sunnydale was a distant second. “You?” Faith really wished she was better at small talk; she needed to distract the Mayor before he asked anything else about her past.

Richard paid for their drinks and food and started for a small table in a back corner. “I’ve moved around a lot. Itchy feet, I guess. Once I saw this area, though, I knew I wanted to stay.”

It didn’t say much for his taste in locations. Even Faith was smart enough to keep that thought to herself. “Hope your family didn’t mind stayin’ put.” Maybe she _could_ do all the polite chit chat Giles always wanted.

“I don’t have any family, Faith.” Richard’s smile dimmed for the first time. Fiddling with the sleeves of his crisply-starched dress shirt. “My sub died many years ago.” For the first time, Faith noticed that his marker was red. How had she missed that before? “We had hoped to start a family in Sunnydale, but I’m afraid we weren’t that blessed.”

What was the right thing to say? Faith had never met anyone who really _wanted_ a family. Well, except for that one dinner with Buffy and her mother. Kids were a money making tool where she’d grown up in South Boston. “I’m sorry.” Reaching out hesitantly, she touched his hand.

“Thank you.” He patted her arm and then shook like a dog after a swim at Carson Beach. “Enough about me, though. Tell me a little about Faith. Are you settling in? Moving and learning to work with new people is always difficult, isn’t it? New rules, new expectations.”

“Yeah.” Faith took a big bite of a chocolate chip muffin to avoid saying more. Richard didn’t know the half of it.

“I admire the way you’re obviously willing to make it work. That’s what I like about you, Faith. You’re a hard worker, keeping us all safe from nasty vampires and demons. We need more young people like you. In fact, if you didn’t already have a job, I’d hire you for my staff. I could use a woman with your talents. That Mr. Giles is lucky to have you on his team.”

The muffin stuck in Faith’s throat. Giles didn’t think he was lucky; he thought Faith was a complete lossloser as a Slayer and as a person.

Richard nibbled on his own muffin and idly glanced at his watch.  “How did it get so late? I’m afraid I have an early meeting. How about I walk with you back to the Slayer House? Take the rest of the muffins. They’ll make a nice, healthy breakfast for you.”

Back to the House. The last place Faith wanted to be. But she didn’t want to disappoint Richard by admitting the truth. “That’d be great, Sir. I mean, Richard.” If she could get him to leave her at the door, she’d slip away. She picked up the box of muffins and helped Richard clean off the table.  “If you ain’t got time to walk me home,” the words tasted like garbage as she spoke, “I’m good on my own.”

“I’d never do that. When I was a boy, my father taught me that one should always escort a lady to her door.”  He held out his crooked arm. “Shall we go?”

Faith placed her hand on his arm. “Ready.”

They walked slowly; Richard acted as a tour guide, pointing out things Faith had never known about Sunnydale. “Did you know that the land around Sunnydale used to be home to both the Navajo and Chumash tribes? It’s believed that there are ancient burial grounds nearby; although, no one’s found any evidence of that.”

“Be kinda funny. I mean, Sunnydale already has more cemeteries than even Boston.” Giles had tried to get her to read a history book on Sunnydale but this was far better. “What else you know?”

“Oh, Faith. I know everything. Every detail. It’s almost as if I was there when the first building went up in town.” Richard leaned his head back and looked at the stars. “My grandfather, the original Richard Wilkins, founded the town back in 1899. He was the one who decided to call this place Sunnydale. Happydale and Sunny Acres were his other options, but… Grandpa decided to take a little of both.”

The House was up ahead. Faith wanted to turn and run. Instead, she followed the Mayor up the front stairs. “Thanks from bringing me home, Richard. I had fun.” It was true, Faith realized. Richard had treated her like someone he wanted to know.

“Me, too, Faith. Maybe we could…” The front door opened and interrupted him. “Ah, hello! Mr. Giles, right? I’m Richard Wilkins III.”

“Mr. Mayor.” Giles’ eyes darted between Richard and Faith. “And Faith. I’m sorry, Sir. I really hope Faith didn’t bother you this evening. We’ve been searching for her since she ran off this evening. A slight misunderstanding with our Senior Slayer, I’m afraid.”

“Faith wasn’t any trouble.” Richard sounded genuinely shocked that Giles would even think that. “And I’m sure your other Slayer will see the error of her ways and apologize. Now, Faith, why don’t you head inside? I’m sure you need to get some rest. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you because you were tired. Give my office a call in the morning. I’d love to take you on a tour of City Hall. Maybe have lunch. I know this excellent restaurant just outside of town.”

Faith nodded. Without meeting Giles’ gaze, she ducked inside. “Thanks again, Mr. Mayor.” Clutching the box of muffins and her ice-cold cup of hot chocolate, Faith started up the stairs.


	10. Chapter 10

“Faith!” Of course, Giles couldn’t let Faith make her escape. Stopping mid-way up the stairs, Faith turned. “You are under house arrest. Did that slip your mind?”

Not at all. Faith managed to keep that thought to herself. “It didn’t look like ya’ really wanted me to stay,” she said honestly.

Her comment drew a pained sigh from Giles. “I am sorry if we gave you that impression. Be that as it may, you left the House without permission when you had specifically been instructed to remain on the grounds.”

What an asshole. He cared more about the rules than he did about her. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, yet it was – and it hurt. Faith was a _person_. A person with real feelings. And right now, Faith was starting to feel a whole lot of anger again. Bottling it up was difficult; however, Faith let the memory of the Mayor’s approval combat the rage. “Look, Giles. I’m sorry. I was sorry five minutes after I left.” Because her backpack was up in her room, not because she’d broken his fucking rules. “And I woulda been right back if I hadn’t run into the Mayor.” Partly true. She had run into Richard. “I promise to stay at the House, alright?”

“It is not ‘alright.’” Giles ruined his lecture with a yawn. “However, I am too tired to discuss it further. We will continue this in the morning. I expect you to be in my office promptly at six to review the events of tonight and to plan out your training schedule for the week.”

“Six?” Giles was crazy. Faith could get up at seven and still make it to school on time. She could tell he was waiting for her to refuse, though. And if she did, he’d probably run right to the Council with everything that had happened earlier.  “Whatever.” She’d be there. Somehow. And then she’d call Richard during lunch to set up the tour. Giles wouldn’t risk offending someone as important as the Mayor over her house arrest. “Can I go now?”  
  
He started to nod and then stopped. “One last thing.”  
  
Faith considered sitting down and getting comfortable. “Shoot,” she told him.  
  
“I apologize for overreacting this evening. Xander set both Buffy and I straight on what truly occurred.” Really? Faith’s disbelief must have shown. Giles thawed enough to give her a quirky smile. “While I cannot say I condone your methods, I _can_ concede you did not intend deliberate mischief with your actions. I am sure Buffy shall have more to say to you once she and Xander have sorted themselves out. Have a good evening, my dear.” He left her on the stairs and disappeared through the living room.   
  
Xander had backed her up. Giles and Buffy knew the truth. Even better, Faith might just have made her first friend in Sunnydale. Maybe she’d put her backpack in the closet for a while. See how things went.

***

It was a good thing Faith had saved a couple of the muffins. Rolling out of bed just before six was hard, no matter how many good intentions she had. A cold shower left her shivering – and still groggy. Giles was crazy. No one needed to be up this early. She did manage to make it to his office right on time, though, and slumped into one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk.

“Good morning, Faith.” Either Giles was poking the beast with his cheery attitude, or he was the most clueless man on the planet.

Faith grunted in return. He’d said she had to be here. He hadn’t said anything about being awake.

“Now, we need to arrange your training and patrol schedule for the week. You have shown improvement in your hand to hand…”

The words faded out. Faith really didn’t care about any of it. It was training. Hitting (or stabbing) practice dummies or sparring with a heavily-padded Giles wasn’t high on her Fun Meter. Buffy probably wouldn’t be around to spar since she and Xander were off doing whatever it took to pry Buffy’s head out of her ass.

Unfortunately, Giles was serious about the scheduling. Faith dragged her attention back to the conversation when he cleared his throat. “Are you paying attention?”

Silence was probably wiser than a lie. Giles sometimes had a sixth sense when it came to Faith’s lies.

“I thought not.” He pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk toward Faith. A weekly calendar filled with very tiny handwriting. Lovely. Giles needed to learn how to use a computer. Faith would never be able to read this. “Please look over the information. I have shortened your daily routine by thirty minutes to allow you to complete your studies before patrol.”

Patrol. Faith’s head came up. That’s how she spotted Giles’ smirk. “What about me stayin’ in the House?”

“Buffy is currently out of rotation.” Even the knowledge that she was free only because Buffy was unavailable didn’t lessen Faith’s relief. “As long as you report to the House immediately after school for workouts and are gone only for patrol, I see no reason to request assistance from Los Angeles,” Giles continued.

There was only one problem. “And I’m good to call the Mayor?”

Giles paused to consider. “Privileges are earned, Faith. Do you truly believe this is something you have earned with your recent behavior?”  
  
He was still twisted up about that? “I did my time, took my lumps.” Faith snapped. She still had the bruises on her ass to prove it. “Thought once the punishment was over, you couldn’t bitch about it? I’m pretty sure that was part of the big speech Janna gave me at the end.” Not that she’d paid much attention. She’d been too busy trying to remember how to stand up.  
  
At least Giles had the grace to flush and glance away.  “I was not...I would never...” Ripping off his glasses, he began furiously polishing them. “I merely wanted to stress that, given your recent struggles with curfew and under-aged drinking, I am concerned, Faith. You are not considering a visit with a school friend. This is the Mayor of Sunnydale. He has authority in this town, obviously. And should he notice any,” the glasses went back on, “irregularities in your behavior, it could adversely affect this House and our presence here.”  
  
Barely holding back her automatic “Duh!” response, Faith said bitterly, “I got it, Giles. The Mayor can’t know I’m a fuck up.” His lips pressed together angrily, and Faith scowled down at her boots. “Can I call him? Please,” she forced out.   
  
“Yes, Faith. On the condition you inform me of any visits you arrange with Mayor Wilkins. Should the Council inquire as to your whereabouts, I will be prepared to tell them of your new-found verve for local government.” Giles shuffled a few of the many files on his desk in a clear dismissal.  
  
Wasting no time, Faith sprang from her chair and headed for the door. She paused in the doorway, though. “Thanks, Giles.”  
  
His soft, “You are welcome, my dear,” followed her into the hallway.

***

Tara was up and showered long before her alarm finally sounded. She’d been awake, sitting in the dark, for hours. Bonded. The word repeated endlessly in her mind. Of course, she’d known it was a possibility. Everyone knew that over ninety percent of people eventually discovered their bondmate. Tara had simply believed she’d be one of those who never found anyone.  
  
Bonded.  
  
Centering herself mentally, she reached out, trying to find a hint of the bondmate link. It had been there last night. And Tara was worried about her submissive. Unfortunately, the link was a very short dead end. It was there..and went nowhere. She couldn’t feel anything. Giving up the search sapped Tara’s already-diminished excitement about the day.   
  
“Get up on the wrong side of the bed?” Trish was alone with a bowl of cereal when Tara entered the kitchen. The under-microwave light supplied the only illumination.  
  
It suited Tara’s mood. “I guess,” she said softly.   
  
“Maybe this will help.” Getting up, Trish opened the door at the far end of the kitchen leading to the laundry. Brian, Monica, and Jay, Dominants from the dinner party, popped out. “Surprise!” she called out. The lights came on, revealing a pile of wrapped items on the counters.  
  
“What’s going on?” Tara peered at the group in confusion.  
  
Brian bowed. “It’s a tradition to celebrate a fellow Dominant’s new bonding. Trish called last night to share the good news. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with just the four of us because of the short notice. The rest of the gang will be by to deliver their congratulations as soon as they can.” He took one of the presents from the counter and held it out. “Open this one first.”  
  
Blinded by tears, Tara carefully undid the wrapping paper to reveal a square wooden box. A plain black leather cuff nestled inside.  
  
“We’ll do the honors.” Monica, appearing far more approachable this morning, unbuckled Tara’s current cuff. “The bond between a Dominant and their submissive goes beyond any mental link. It is a commitment by the Dominant to love, protect, and guide the submissive regardless of the way they relate within a dynamic.”  
  
Brian stepped forward and took the new cuff from the box. “Can you make this commitment willingly?” His eyes were serious as he waited for Tara’s answer.

“Yes.” Tara’s doubts about her abilities didn’t magically disappear. However, the crippling fear of not being good enough had dimmed with the beginning of the bond. Fate or the Goddess had judged her worthy of the bond. Tara would find a way to be what her submissive needed.

“Welcome to the family.” Brian buckled the cuff around her wrist and enveloped her in a hug. He wiped the tears from her face and then offered a tissue from the box on the kitchen table. “You didn’t really think we’d let something like this go without a party? Even if it is over cereal since Trish can’t cook and Maxie can’t be here.”

At Tara’s questioning look, Trish explained. “No subs allowed. It’s a Dominants only clubhouse at the moment.” 

“So what can you tell us?” Offering another gift, Jay finally joined the conversation. “What’s your sub like?” He held up his hands as Brian poked him in the shoulder. “Hey, you can act like you don’t care. Me? I’m not afraid to be nosy.”

“You have absolutely no class, Jay,” Monica opined. She sat down at the table, crossed her legs, and began reading the nutritional information on the side of the cereal box. “It’s always fun to have these celebrations. I spent a wild night of debauchery with my sister and three of her girlfriends when my link with Drew appeared.”

Tara was so distracted with envisioning a younger Monica that she forgot about the present in her hands.

Trish hadn’t. She interrupted Monica’s tale with a firm, “Rip it open or I’ll give you a firsthand lesson in kitchen utensils-cum-punishment tools.”

Making a big show of following the order, Tara murmured a mocking, “Yes, Mistress,” and sliced a piece of tape with her fingernail. She repeated the gesture four more times before tossing the paper at Trish’s head. “Oh!” The complete, illustrated (and very expensive) collection of _Domination: A Road to Self Discovery._ There was no card included; Tara checked for one twice.

Jay shoved another gift toward Tara as she glanced around the group, trying to spot the giver.

Each of them met her gaze easily.

Sneaky Dominants. Vowing to discover who had given her the books, Tara took the next gift and began unwrapping it.

“As I was saying, I had this fantastically crazy party with my sister and her friends. It was an all-night affair with food and gifts and a willing submissive.” She waited for Tara to pull off the paper and grinned at her flaming blush. “It was the first time I’d ever tied up a real person and not those creepy blow-up submissives they used in Dominance classes.”

“Ones like that?” Brian pointed to the box Tara clutched in her hands.

Monica nodded. “Exactly like that one. A real person is so much better, Tara, I promise. You could go to a club and find a willing sub to practice on. I didn’t have that option. I was ten years old when I bonded with Drew. My sub at the party was my best friend’s little brother. To this day, he runs away the minute he sees me.”

Everyone laughed.

“Thank you, Monica,” Tara said sincerely. “I’ll think of you every time I use Bondage Betty.”

“She’ll be remembering this moment and imagining you were Betty, Mon.” Jay blew a kiss at Monica as she glared at him. “You should rename her Manacled Monica.”

Tara wagged a finger at Jay. “You are so bad, Jay. I like you.” He seized her hand and kissed it as she reached for the final gift, a sealed envelope.

“Will the bondage practice come in handy with your sub, Tara? Does he or she enjoy decorative rope bondage?” Monica asked casually.

“I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse of thought last night.” Tara tore open the envelope with a speed worthy of Trish. “She was scared. And in pain. I think she’s in trouble,” she admitted, pulling out a gift card for Leader of the Pack Leather, the best leather store in California.

Monica sat forward. “I was going to gloat about getting information for you, Jay. But bragging on my interrogation skills seems out of place. Tell us everything, Tara. Maybe we can help.”


	11. Chapter 11

Rushing. In the week since Brian had buckled on her new cuff, it had become almost normal for Tara. She rushed to class. She rushed to the library to complete homework for college classes and Dominant training with Trish. She rushed to additional Dominant training sessions with The Trio, as she’d begun calling them. 

And right now, Tara was rushing for a lesson with Brian. A lesson with a live submissive.

If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, that thought might have scared her right out of town. There just wasn’t enough time for a really good fit of the vapors, though. Tara spared only a second to acknowledge the anxious cramping in her stomach as she entered Top of the World, one of the few Sunnydale clubs.

“ID?” The bouncer stopped her headlong rush just inside the door.

Right. Tara fumbled in her backpack for a minute before brandishing her driver’s license. She stood mostly still as the man carefully held the laminated plastic card up near her head and visually matched it to her face. Good luck, she thought. The photo was so bad; she looked like a strung out vampire.

Apparently, his eyesight was better than Tara’s. That or vampires were welcome inside. He placed an “under-21” stamp on her left hand. “Have a good evening, Ma’am.”

“Thank you.” The urge to turn tail and run ballooned. Tara was short of breath just walking toward the dance floor and play space. Brian had emailed her earlier to say he would reserve a table in a secluded corner of the main floor. Consciously slowing her breathing, Tara forced shaking legs to carry her toward the smattering of tables. Faux candlelight shone in ornate brass holders mounted on the wall and soft music played in the background.

“Tara! I’m glad you made it,” Brian said as if they were meeting at the Pump for coffee. He was dressed in shorts, T-shirt, and flip flops. The quintessential California Golden Boy.

Tara responded to his relaxed attitude and attire immediately. She’d been expecting more traditional club clothing. Seeing Brian in tight leather might have pushed her over the edge – and right out the door. “Sorry I’m late.”

“We’ve been keeping you busy. I thought you might be running behind.” Pulling a chair away from the table, he helped her sit down. “If you’re ready, though, I’d like to get started. I want you to have plenty of time for your practicum.”

“OK.” Tara’s anxiety returned.  

Brian paused and waited until she nodded for him to continue. “Trish and I have been talking.” That didn’t bode well. “You’re probably not going to like what I have to say.” Tara stared longingly over his shoulder at the door. “You spend too much time learning and not enough doing. If you were ten and needed us to teach you the basics, book work and theory would be fine. But you’re not, Tara. You’re eighteen. The longer you listen to us lecture, the more you worry about whether you can actually _do_ any of the things you learn.”

He was a mind reader, and Tara almost regretted telling Trish’s friends an edited version of her past. “I…”

Interrupting, Brian said, “Dominance isn’t a science. It’s not about understanding a rigid set of rules or laws. It’s about observation and _feeling_. It’s about learning what your partner wants and needs and helping them find it. And you can’t learn that from a book, Tara. You learn that by talking. And listening. Not with me and Trish. With a submissive.”

Gentle hands turned Tara in her chair until she faced one particular conversation nook. The Sub Station. Every club had one. A place for submissives to gather.

A place for Dominants to cruise for companionship.

“I can’t do that.” Tara’s stomach threatened to revolt. She couldn’t just walk up to the group scattered through the Sub Station and pick one up for the evening.

“You can. You have to. Tonight. Now.” Brian was uncompromising. “Don’t be afraid of your Dominance, Tara.”

His words were an eerie echo of Althenea’s warning. Goddess, Tara couldn’t let fear keep her frozen any longer. She reluctantly turned her attention to the four women and two men chatting and laughing across the room. One of them noticed her watching. He ducked his head, dropping his eyes for an instant before peering at her through his lashes.

“Go on. Go talk to him,” Brian urged.

Tara stood and moved woodenly across the floor. This felt all wrong. Not only wasn’t she ready, but she was _bonded_. It didn’t matter that the bond wasn’t complete or that she’d never held a conversation with her submissive. She kept walking, though. Brian was right; she was afraid. If she didn’t act now, the fear would win.

The rest of the submissives had turned to watch her approach, and Tara glanced away. Meat market, much? That’s when she noticed another submissive slouched in the far corner of a couch, nearly hidden by the high arm. She automatically changed course.

“May I join you?” Tara asked the pretty brunette submissive.

Without glancing up, the woman muttered a sullen, “I guess.”

It wasn’t the response Tara expected. However, she suspected it was an honest response. Sinking into the soft cushions nearby, Tara sighed and closed her eyes. “Thank you. It’s been a long day,” she said as if the submissive had welcomed her company.

Tara felt the other woman shift on the couch. “Do you want…I could get you a drink?” The question was reluctantly offered, a nod to convention rather than a desire to serve.

Opening her eyes, Tara turned and caught the submissive watching her. So many things were wrong with this scene, with the submissive’s behavior. Should she say something? Examining the woman, Tara noticed her tension. Her posture was so stiff, it appeared she might break. Her hands were fisted in her lap. And, as Tara completed her perusal, the woman’s chin raised almost defiantly.

She clearly expected Tara to call her out. Why? Shelving that for later consideration, Tara confronted a more immediate issue: the submissive didn’t seem to _want_ Tara to get angry with her behavior. If that was the case, why was she even in the club? It was a mystery Tara suddenly needed to solve. “That would be wonderful, sweetie. Just water, please,” she requested.

Tara kept her attention on the woman while she walked to the bar. It was a good thing. She received several furtive glances. Obviously, the submissive didn’t trust Tara’s interest. Someone had clearly betrayed her in the past. Tara kept her gaze sure and steady, never glancing away. She wasn’t going to desert the poor sub, and she hoped her expression conveyed that.

What could be better? A reluctant Dominant and her reluctant submissive. Brian and Trish were going to pay for this. Somehow. Some way.

When the submissive returned with a bottled water, Tara took a deep breath. It was time to stop hiding. She had a submissive who needed something from her; Tara simply had to discover what that was. To that end, Tara didn’t reach for the bottle the woman held out for her. She raised a single eyebrow in a gesture she’d seen Trish use and then glanced at the floor next to her feet.

She and the woman were not equals. There were protocols that should be observed. The sub had the right to refuse, of course. She and Tara weren’t bonded. However, Tara needed to see how the woman would react.

The bottle wavered in the air as the submissive recoiled. Tara didn’t say anything. In fact, she didn’t even react to the refusal to obey. She simply met the woman’s eyes and…waited. Waited as if obedience were a given. Of course the submissive would kneel at her silent command. Tara was a Dominant; she expected – and would get – nothing less.

Tara’s tactic worked. After a momentary hesitation, the submissive dropped to her knees next to Tara. “Your water, Ma’am.”

An electric spark of accomplishment lit Tara’s emotions. She’d done it. She’d actually given a command and been obeyed. More than that, it was the first time she’d _earned_ the honorific rather than received it because of her marker.

“Thank you, sweetie.” Tara took the bottle and set it on the end table. She hadn’t really wanted a drink. “What’s your name, pretty one?” Setting her fingers under the woman’s chin, she raised it slightly so she could watch the submissive’s expression.

The touch also allowed Tara to feel the lingering tension in the submissive’s body. “Mari, Ma’am.”

Releasing Mari’s chin, Tara gently stroked over her neck and shoulder. Soft strokes meant to soothe and relax rather than arouse. Tara didn’t speak. Not yet. Mari wasn’t ready for that. Little by little, the sounds from the club faded into the background. Tara forgot the other people wandering by or watching from the other tables or couches. Her world had narrowed to Mari. Mari’s soft skin, her expressive eyes – and the tension slowly dropping away under Tara’s hands.

Tara knew it was time to move forward when Mari released a deep sigh and her body finally settled comfortably into position. Pulling the submissive closer, she encouraged Mari to lean into her leg and cupped the back of her neck. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweetie.”

***

Faith knew she wasn’t alone in the House. A familiar tingle traced along her skin. Each step closer to the second floor and the gym increased the buzz as well as Faith apprehension. This could go one of two ways: Faith would end the night as a corpse or she would walk away with nothing more than the usual bumps and bruises.

The equipment had been pushed against the walls and mats covered the wood floors in the darkened gym. “Hey, B. Thought you and Xander were honeymooning or whatever,” Faith said to Buffy, who continued her stretching routine on the mats without looking up.

“We’re waiting until after the latest Big Bad is gone.” Buffy leaned forward and pressed her face against her outstretched legs. Her hands gripped the bottoms of her feet, pulling her upper body more fully into the stretch.

“Big Bad?” Faith pulled off her boots and exchanged them for a pair of martial arts shoes from the shoe rack by the door. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe there was Option Three for the evening. Maybe she and Buffy would hit the streets for a joint patrol. Option Three was Faith’s choice.

Buffy didn’t answer until she’d completed her stretch. “Let’s spar first.” Rolling backward, she tucked into a somersault and came to her feet. Faith never even saw the first punch. Or the four that followed.

She staggered backward and crashed into a weight bench. “B…” Buffy hit her again, cutting off her comment. Shit. Was Buffy going to finish the job she’d started the week before when she’d found out about Faith and Xander. A kernel of self-preservation pushed Faith to her feet. Partially blocking Buffy’s next blow, Faith managed to strike back.

They weren’t sparring. This was an all-out brawl. Blood dripped into Faith’s eye from a cut on her forehead. She swiped at it and ducked under a wild haymaker. The move left Buffy vulnerable; Faith used it to her advantage. Slamming her shoulder into the ribs under Buffy’s outstretched arm, Faith drove her back into the mirror on the far wall.

Glass rained down around them.

“Good. Fight back,” Buffy snarled. “It’s no fun beating someone who just lays there.”

“Look again, B.” Faith was way past “laying there” for Buffy to beat on. “I’ve got _you_ all wrapped up. Guess I’ll be doing the beating.” It was about time, too. With a grin of anticipation, she reared back and ploughed her right fist into Buffy’s face.

Or…that was the plan. Buffy somehow escaped Faith’s hold, and Faith’s hand crashed through the mirror and lodged in the drywall behind. “Son of a bitch!” Now Faith was pissed. How did Buffy do that? Yanking her hand free, she spun – right into a brutal upper cut. Her head snapped back.

It was like fighting a ghost. Casper, the not-so-friendly ghost, with a wicked right hook. Faith did her best. She landed a few punches and kicks. Got in one really good knee shot that might have broken a few of Buffy’s ribs. But she was definitely losing. Her left eye was swollen shut; her right ankle kept buckling after Buffy kicked it out from under her. There were glass shards embedded in her right hand and wrist from the mirror.

Faith refused to give up, though. Scrambling around the gym, she ducked and blocked when she could. Hit back when she saw an opening. Unfortunately, Faith didn’t have a chance. Buffy overpowered her at every turn. Faith went down for the last time as Buffy unleashed a reverse crescent kick that caught Faith in the temple.

Her vision filled with black and gray dots, and the room swam. Faith barely felt the floor as she crashed down.

Buffy straddled her, hands on either side of Faith’s head. “If you so much as _look_ at Xander, you’ll regret it. This will be like a sparring session with Giles; do you understand?”

“I didn’t…did you…talk to Xan?” Faith mumbled. It hurt to move her jaw.

“Oh, I did, Faith. I talked to Xander for _hours_ , and he told me everything.” Leaning closer, Buffy stared into Faith’s eyes. “He told me that you were trying to help him. That you _did_ help him. It’s the only reason I took it easy on you tonight.”

Holy fuck! Buffy hadn’t gone all out? Faith didn’t want to think of what the fight might have been like if she had. “Got it, B. Xander’s off limits. I won’t even _think_ about touching him.”

“Then we’re done.” Buffy hopped up and held out a hand. “Get cleaned up. You’re covered in blood and then come up to Giles’ office. He’s got information on some weird, sword-carrying vamp I met on patrol last night.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Good Lord, Faith. What happened?” Giles came out from behind his desk as if shot from a cannon. “Sit down. Sit down. I’ll summon Dr. Isaacs.”

He might be a stickler for rules, but Giles was always quick to take care of injuries. Faith _did_ sit down; although she waved Giles away from the phone. “Don’t worry about it. I’m good.” Or she would be.  There was no way Faith was losing her chance to go out on patrol. “Just need some ice and Advil after patrol. Slayer healing’ll take care of the rest. Me and B did some sparring. Guess I wasn’t paying attention or something.”

Giles actually _glared_ at Buffy. “You did this?”

Casually taking the seat next to Faith, Buffy answered, “Yes.” She waited a heartbeat, eyes locked with Giles’. Her stare was pure Dominant. A clear comment to let the situation go and to move on.

Proving he was strong-willed, Giles didn’t immediately fold. “You assured me you understood what had happened, Buffy. I trusted you…”

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt Faith. I didn’t. Much.” Faith might have disagreed with Buffy’s statement; except she knew Buffy had been capable of far worse. “What do you have on the swordsman who attacked me last night? If we need to patrol together, it has to be soon. I promised Mom I’d be home early. I think she’s afraid Xander will change his mind about the collaring ceremony and run while I’m gone. Apparently, it’s no more than I deserve for making him wait this long.”

With their sparring session firmly in mind, Faith held back a nod of agreement. If she nodded, Giles might really need to call a doctor. Or an ambulance. “What have you got, Giles?”

Returning to his seat behind the desk, Giles shuffled through some papers before holding up one of his dusty tomes. “I recognized your description of the swordsman, Buffy. He’s a member of a vampire cult known as El Eliminati. It is a dueling cult founded in the fifteenth century. Deadly in their day, their numbers dwindled over time due to an increase in anti-vampire sentiment as well as an unfortunate tendency for pointless dueling.”

Faith’s eyes glazed over. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Who cared about this shit?

Not Buffy. She interrupted Giles’ long-winded explanation. “I should be home with my sub, convincing him I really _do_ love him and that he should start planning our collaring ceremony. Can you please get to the point?”

“Balthazar, the demon the Eliminati served, had an amulet. When Balthazar was killed, the amulet was taken by a local landowner. I don’t want to bore you with the details,” he added sarcastically.

“Too late,” Faith and Buffy said at the same time.

Giles ripped off his glasses and threw them onto the desk. “Must you treat every new threat as a joke? The Eliminati may not be plentiful but they were purported to be very skilled swordsmen. I believe they are here looking for Balthazar’s amulet.”

The whole thing seemed simple enough. “We find the amulet, kill all the Illumination vamps, and get back in time for doughnuts.” Faith summed up the situation. “Let’s roll, B.” Heading for the door, she noticed Buffy only a step behind. Nice. Even Buffy could take only so much “preparation.”

“One moment,” Giles called out.

With an impatient sigh, Faith stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

He met her eyes – and then remained silent long enough that Faith considered leaving. “It might be helpful to know where to look for Balthazar’s amulet, don’t you think?”

Giles was a pain in the ass. Faith scowled at his tiny smirk, refusing to respond.

“If we don’t tell him he’s a genius, Faith, he’ll make us stand here all night.” Buffy sounded resigned and just as frustrated as Faith felt. “Where do we find the amulet, Giles? Please tell us.”

“The landowner who took the amulet was named Greaves. I checked various city and church records; he was buried in Sunnydale Cemetery.” Giles sat back, apparently satisfied. “I suggest you take additional weapons in case the El Eliminati attack. Perhaps short swords and daggers?”

“You got it. All the hardware. Can we go now?” Faith asked. Why did he have to make every single patrol so difficult? Unless there were dozens of these Sword Guys, they were no match for her and Buffy together.   
  
Before he answered, Buffy had already shoved Faith out the door. “God, he just goes on and on.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “But he’s probably right about grabbing more than stakes. No way do I want to fence with a tiny piece of wood.” Leading the way to the weapons cage down the hall, she swiftly unlocked the door. “What do you think? Short sword and dagger, like the Watcher-man suggested? Or do you feel less clang-y and more pretty?” She grabbed a rapier and swished it through the air.   
  
“Daggers.” Faith was good with knives. Anything larger, though, and she was more at risk of cutting her own limbs off than beheading a vampire.    
  
Tossing a pair of sheathed hunting daggers at Faith, Buffy then strapped one to her left thigh. Unlike Faith, she paired it with a more traditional short sword (all of four inches longer than the daggers). Stakes followed and were tucked away in pockets and boot sheaths. “Let’s see. Two Slayers? Check. Metal and wooden pointy things? Check. Did I miss anything?”  
  
Faith didn’t care. She was ready to roll. Anticipation made her antsy and she bounced in place while Buffy locked up. They thundered down the stairs and out the door; by silent accord, they maintained their pell-mell pace all the way to Sunnydale Cemetery.  When they reached the front gates, Buffy slowed, forcing Faith to follow suit.

“Got a plan? Or we gonna look at the stars?” Faith couldn’t believe it.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You think we don’t need one.”

“Sure, we need a plan,” Faith answered. “The plan is, we go in, grab the necklace or whatever, and kill anything that gets in our way.” Moving ahead of Buffy, Faith took a direct path toward the Greaves mausoleum. “You need to loosen up. You and me, we’re Slayers, B. Giles can’t understand that. He can preach about planning and research. We’re all about the thrill of the kill.”

“But not the thrill of _being_ killed.” Buffy grabbed the back of Faith’s jacket and dragged her into the darker shadows of a tombstone. “Listen, Joan Wayne, going in with guns blazing sounds like fun – if we had guns. We don’t. More than that, if the Eliminati beat us here, they are already in the crypt. Crypts have one entrance. That means we’re sitting ducks as we try to go in after them.”

She paused to give Faith a chance to think. And Faith did. “You’re saying we can’t charge through the door.”

“I knew you weren’t as stupid as you pretend.” Buffy’s grin didn’t take much of the sting from her comment. “We have to sneak up on the mausoleum, see if the vamps are there. If they are, we wait for them to come out because…” She waited for Faith to fill in the blank.

“Because one entrance means one exit.” Faith shoved Buffy away. “Geez, get with the program, B. We wait for the fuckers to come out and pick them off one at a time. Can’t believe you were just gonna charge in and get us killed.”

Out here, in the cemetery or anywhere on patrol, was one of the few places in Sunnydale Faith had ever really felt comfortable. It was also the one place she and Buffy weren’t at odds. “Yeah, sorry about that, Faith. You know me. I’m all about the action, you know?” It was nearly a direct quote from something Faith had told Buffy weeks ago.

“Shut the fuck up, B. Let’s just do this already.” With a grin, Faith stayed safely behind more tombstones as they zigged and zagged their way to the mausoleum. The coast appeared clear, but Faith felt vampires nearby. “Feel ‘em?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Eyes narrowed, Buffy visually searched the area. “I don’t see them, though. Let’s get a little closer.”

Apparently, Buffy actually meant “right on top of the crypt.” Faith followed as Buffy crept right up to the Greaves’ crypt entryway. Every slow step drove the itching/tingling warning for vampires higher. “Inside?”

“Must be,” Buffy responded. “Get ready. I hear movement.”

This close, so did Faith. The vampires weren’t attempting to be quiet. Once the shuffling started, it soon turned to the stamp of many feet. She drew both hunting daggers and crouched to one side of the entrance.

When the first vampire stepped outside, the battle was on. Faith concentrated on disabling and disarming. Her choice of weapon made beheading not impossible, yet very difficult. She left that for Buffy. She stabbed the first vampire in the chest before he knew she was there. He immediately dropped, and Faith left him on the ground.

Ducking the sword her second victim managed to draw and swing, Faith sliced and diced him as Buffy neatly removed Head Number One from the vampire on the ground. Head Number Two followed as Faith stepped out of the way to allow Buffy access to her current opponent.

The plan broke down from there. The rest of the vampire crew rushed the entrance, knocking Faith and Buffy back far enough that they escaped the bottleneck – and the crypt. Vampires poured from the mausoleum. Faith regretted her not adding something longer and heavier to her arsenal. The daggers were fine for close-in point work. But blocking full-force swords strikes? Really not recommended by the blacksmith. She felt the blades shudder under each blow. They wouldn’t last long at this rate.  
  
“Need to end this, B!” she shouted over the sounds of battle. Luckily, the prize was in site. It dangled from the belt of the vampire in front of her. The vampire bared his teeth at her and swung low. His partner in crime slashed at her head.   
  
Only a Slayer could have avoided the joint attack. And Faith was a Slayer. Grinning madly, she jumped and tucked her feet up at the same time she ducked her head. The blades whistled in empty air - and then their owners were on the ground with fresh stab wounds. Faith used their distraction to take out another vampire.  
  
The crowds were finally thinning. Buffy had created a cloud of dust with her short swords As Faith watched, she ran toward the crypt wall, using it as a springboard for a back flip. The vampires stared in confusion for half a second before Buffy cleanly removed their heads. More dust puffed up and their robes dropped to the ground. Only the two taking up space in the grass remained.  
  
“Not much of a fight. I guess expert duelers make lousy fighters.” Buffy covered a fake yawn. “I’m bored. You?”

“Hell, yeah. I thought Giles’ said we needed to worry about these guys. You pack a better punch, Princess,” Faith responded. She gingerly touched the bruises on her face and winked at Buffy. “Give me a sec to grab the necklace for Giles. Then they’re all yours.” Slicing through the amulet’s chain where it was wrapped around the vampire’s belt, Faith took the amulet.  
  
Two quick sword swipes later, all the vampires were gone. “Let’s roll. I want to have time to...chat with Xan after Giles does his next lecture.” Buffy headed out at a sprint.  
  
Faith started to follow and then stopped. She felt another vampire in the area. Pretending search for something in the grass, she scanned the cemetery. Nothing moved yet Faith’s skin still tingled. Another one of the Eliminati? Or another vampire who happened to be in the area? After a few minutes, though, the tingle faded. Faith took one last look around and then ran after Buffy.

***

Giles peered at the amulet. “Well, it isn’t quite what I expected. However, I do believe it is the genuine artifact.”  
  
“Great. Hate to think me and B fought all those vamps for a fake.” Leaning back in her chair, Faith watched Giles carefully scrape at the dirt encrusting the amulet. “What does it do?”  
  
“The original accounts suggest it provided the wearer, the demon Balthazar, with great strength.” Giles finally gave up on cleaning the amulet and placed it in a velvet-lined lock box. “I am working with several of the Council’s confidential informants to determine why the El Eliminati attempted to reclaim it.”  
  
That wasn’t hard to figure out. “Bet they want to recharge their boss and end the world. Too bad me and B are on the case.” Just another day in the life of a Slayer, Faith thought with satisfaction. Her muscles hummed from the fight, and it would be a long time before she was anywhere near ready to sleep. Sparring was out unless Giles had cleaned up the gym - which was unlikely since he hadn’t yet lectured (again) on the expense of repairing and replacing the equipment and mirror. Maybe a late night swim...   
  
“It is a definite possibility. I have a meeting scheduled for early in the morning. Please do not be late for our pre-patrol briefing tomorrow. Buffy will be joining us as well.” Giles said sternly. “If there is a new demon in town, I will send both of you in pursuit. You did an excellent job tonight, Faith. I’m very pleased.”  
  
“Sweet.” Faith grinned at him. “Thanks, G-man.” Hopping up, she stretched. “We done? I’m gonna hit the pool for a while.”  
  
He nodded and gestured at the door. “Indeed. We are finished for tonight. Do not stay up too late, my dear. I have your appointment with the Mayor on the scheduled on the calendar for tomorrow. I would not wish you to be fatigued for that.”  
  
No. Neither would Faith. Maybe she’d swim a few laps and then crawl into bed. It wouldn’t kill her to get a little extra sleep.

***

“You survived,” Brian congratulated Tara.   
  
She had. However, Tara was shaking and drained as she sat down at the table and sipped at the watered-down soda he’d ordered for her.   
  
Brian didn’t press for a response. He simply kept her company as she pulled herself together. “I was surprised with your choice. That pretty boy was all ready and waiting for you. The girl? This isn’t her first time here; she’s refused several experienced Dominants,” he finally said. There was no judgment in his comment.   
  
Why had she chosen Mari? Tara’s memory of her walk to the Sub Station was fuzzy. “I think...she needed me.” The boy hadn’t. He’d wanted a play partner; Mari had needed a Dominant. Tara had been drawn to that. To Mari’s need and her vulnerability. Her lips curled in a soft smile in remembrance of the way Mari had opened up to her. The way she’d responded to Tara’s gentle encouragement and praise.  
  
Of course, Brian noticed her reaction. “That’s your trigger, isn’t it, Tar? It’s hard to resist the broken ones.” Tilting her head, he observed her closely. “You seem very calm. And confident. It went well?”  
  
“Eventually,” Tara admitted. “I didn’t know what to do or say at first. Then I just did.” Even now, she couldn’t explain it. Once Mari had knelt at her feet and relaxed, Tara had begun quizzing her. General questions. Had she been to the bar before? How long she’d lived in Sunnydale? How long had she been bonded? Tara had been about to admit she was recently bonded when she’d noticed that Mari’s relaxation had disappeared with talk of her Dominant.   
  
From there... Well, the questions and correct actions had just been there in Tara’s mind. Instinct? Maybe. Whatever had guided her, Tara had needed to take care of Mari. She’d needed to see her smile, needed to watch her soften and relax against her. She’d needed know that she’d been there for Mari.

And Tara had answered the most important question of all. She _could_ Dominate someone. All she needed to do now was fully connect with her submissive.


	13. Chapter 13

Tara sprinkled salt along the permanently-etched circle on the floor of the Magical Workroom. Sunlight sparkled on the energy beginning to fill the room, waiting for her to shape it. Smiling at the warm caress of power, Tara completed her task and drew in a deep breath. It had been too long since she’d shared this feeling with anyone.   
  
_“Close your eyes and just feel, baby. It’s there.” Tara’s mother waved a hand at the air. “Don’t be afraid.”_  
  
Determined to find whatever her mother said was out there, Tara closed her eyes. Nothing. There was nothing. Her eyes popped open - and met her mother’s amused gaze. She flushed. “I can’t f-feel anything,” she mumbled.   
  
“You didn’t really try.” Reaching out, her mother patted her hand. “Try again, only this time, reach out with your mind. Imagine an invisible hand, reaching out, away from your body.” Her hand squeezed Tara’s one last time. “What do you feel?”  
  
Closing her eyes again, Tara tried to calm her thoughts. Meditation had been her first real “magic” lesson. Slowly, the deep breathing worked. Tara’s mind stilled. The remaining thoughts drifted lazily through her mind without demanding attention. That’s when Tara extended her mental hand. It wasn’t perfect. She glimpsed holes and thinning spots in the hand. But it worked. The hand tingled as she reached out. Tingled and grew warm as something soft and ephemeral wrapped around it. “I got it, Mama!”  
  
Tara exhaled, and the memory faded. The memory, but not the warmth. She wrapped herself in the comfort of the magical energy before pushing it out toward the Circle. Reaching the protective salt barrier, it fused with the granules coating the ring of black tiles on the floor. With a bright flash, the power exploded up to the ceiling and locked into place against the matching black tiles there.

The Circle was complete. Tara sat Indian-style on the floor and waited for her audience to speak.

She didn’t wait long. “You do that formal casting before every spell?” Janna asked.

The question shouldn’t have been a surprise. Janna’s impatience had been clear from the way she’d repeatedly shifted from foot to foot as Tara cast the Circle. “Yes. It’s the only way I know to keep any darker energy from slipping into the spell. Every time you pull in power, whether from natural elements or a ley line, you risk accidentally pulling in dark magic. You open a door inside your mind, Janna, and you definitely want to make sure only the invited guests can come to the party.”

“I used to do something similar. Less elaborate, but similar. Formal Magick is a required part of the Council ‘interview’ process.” For an experienced witch, Janna looked amazingly like a child expecting a reprimand. “Then Will showed me a way to manipulate energy directly from the ley lines and fuse it into a shield. It’s fast and doesn’t require any supplies - which comes in handy out in the field.” Her smile was wry. “We’ve become what Althenea disparagingly calls an American coven. I’m afraid she doesn’t think much of either me or Willow.”  
  
Interesting. Why didn’t they simply send a more traditionally-trained witch to Sunnydale, in that case? And were they teaching new, less skilled witches that same technique? The risk inherent in that caused Tara to shudder.  She held her tongue, though, not wanting to insult Janna. “I’m sure you and Willow do fine, Janna.” Remembering Xander’s story about his chick magnet days, she added, “Willow sounds very powerful.”   
  
“Go ahead and say it, Tara. She’s dangerous.” There was both pride and frustration in Janna’s comment.  
  
“Well, Xander did mention a few magical miscues. I don’t know that she’s dangerous,” Tara said carefully. She didn’t have the right - or the authority - to comment on Willow’s skills. She’d never seen her cast a spell. “Besides, there isn’t One True Way when it comes to magic. My mother learned from her mother who learned from her mother. None of them belonged to a Coven or had any formal training. It was all handed down. What makes that better than someone who picks up a book written by a respected witch? Or a witch who spends years apprenticed to a traditional Coven?” If that last was the only option, and the Coven was Althenea’s, Tara might start cutting corners and teaching herself, too.  
  
A smile rewarded Tara’s answer. “Thank you. I know you’re right, but we’ve dealt with a lot of naysayers. The Slayers’ Council has forged very strong ties with large Covens in Europe. It’s much harder here. Not just in Sunnydale. There are only a few Council facilities with those kinds of mystical resources anywhere in the US. In the perfect little world I’ve imagined in my head, we’re going to change all that. Instead of training and releasing new witches, I’d like to offer them jobs as teachers, researchers, even Watchers. Create an in-house Coven.”

Until this moment, that’s what Tara thought already happened. “Even in Europe, the Covens don’t operate inside the Council headquarters or Houses?” What if a Slayer needed help?

“Not a full Coven. The largest Slayer facility, the international headquarters in Scotland has a team of five witches. The rest of us, though, have teams of two or three. Or one, like here.” Janna finally sat down, legs outstretched as she leaned back on her hands. “Willow’s unofficially a member of my team. Despite the fact she could run magical rings around me, the Council hasn’t granted her full status. She’ll have to complete their Trial, if she even wants to. Willow’s got other talents, too.”

If Willow was as powerful as she seemed, there was no choice, in Tara’s opinion. The Trial would prove Willow had mastered basic control of her powers. Willow _had_ to finish her magical studies and she would have to practice at least protective magic for the rest of her life. She’d be a magical beacon for Black Magic practitioners and other dark forces without constant wards and vigilance. Changing the subject before she and Janna ended in a drawn-out debate over magical training and responsibilities, Tara followed Janna’s line of conversation. “Really? What else does Willow do?”

The leading question worked as well on Janna as it normally did on Trish. Apparently, all Dominants could be distracted with questions about their submissive. Janna lit up the Workroom with her smile. “She’s a genius with computers. She’s a genius, period. If Sunnydale wasn’t such a backward pit of no opportunity, Will would have already graduated from high school. She’s completed all of her class work and actually teaches computer classes since the last computer teacher disappeared.” Tara was envious of Janna’s soft expression as she continued. “Willow’s already started taking classes at UC-Sunnydale, too. She turned down early admission to universities all over the world because I was assigned here and she didn’t want to leave Buffy and Xander without backup.”  
  
“You weren’t enough of a reason?” Tara teased gently.  
  
“Absolutely not.” There was no hint of doubt or jealousy in Janna’s answer. “Now, I’ve let you control this conversation long enough. It’s time for you to do some talking, Ms. Maclay. A hereditary witch who just happened to end up on a Hellmouth _and_ somehow wrangled an invitation to a Slayer’s Social. And Althenea chatted with you, too.” One eyebrow rose. “It sounds like Fate to me.”  
  
Fate. Tara didn’t want to think about that. Or did she? The new cuff on her wrist was a gift from Fate. “You’re saying I’m stuck on the mouth of Hell and that I might as well throw in with you and Willow?”   
  
“It does sound daunting when you put it that way.” Janna’s smile was wicked. “When can I expect you to fill out the application and take your own Trial?”  
  
She’d been outmaneuvered by a master. Tara watched Janna watch her. “I’m not really looking for a job.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have to do a lot of patrolling or field work. And I’m very flexible when it comes to the teaching schedule.” Janna wasn’t going to back down. “Besides, I’m sure you’re wondering how to support your new submissive. The Council has a very competitive benefits package.”  
  
Tara automatically reached for her marker.   
  
“Really, Tara? Did you really think another Dominant wouldn’t notice?” Holding up her own arm, Janna displayed the black leather cuff with scrollwork matching the decorations on Willow’s collar. “Just think about it.”  
  
“You’re evil,” Tara said, pointing at Janna. There was no way Tara would _not_ be able to think about Janna’s offer. If only publicly practicing magic wouldn’t paint a target on her back. “I’ll think about it. Until I make up my mind, though, stop tormenting me and get on with the magic. I want to see this lesson you’re so worried about.”

***

“Faith! Faith, wait!” Turning, Faith spotted Willow pelting down the stairs. Wasn’t Friday an early release day for Willow? With a sigh, she leaned against a locker and looked at her watch. Willow had exactly five minutes before Faith had to leave. “I’m so glad I caught you. Giles had me doing some research on the demon Balthazar and that amulet you and Buffy got last night. You know how Giles said he was dead? I think he’s wrong. I think Balthazar’s in Sunnydale.”

It took a minute for Faith to unravel the tangled babble of information. “OK,” she said when she had it all figured out. “Thanks. I gotta jet.”

“Faith!” Willow grabbed her arm. “Balthazar’s not dead!”

“Yeah, you said that the first time.” Faith easily freed her arm and glanced at her watch again. “That all? ‘Cause I got a thing to go to.” For some reason, she didn’t want to talk about her upcoming visit with the Mayor. Willow would probably think she was stupid for being so excited (and nervous) about seeing him again.

With a frown, Willow took a step back and examined Faith. “Wow. You’re all dressed up. What thing are you going to?”

Just fucking great. Willow always needed to know everything. “Can we do this later? I got to go.”

“Sure. I mean, yeah. We can talk later. I didn’t…Sorry, Faith.” Willow bit her lip, a sign she was about to go off the deep end. “Is everything alright? I’ve never seen you like this. Not that you don’t look nice all the time. You do! But…” Slapping a hand over her own mouth, Willow stemmed the tide of words.

Were they finished? Faith took a cautious step backward, eyes still on Willow. Just in case.

It was a good thing. Willow’s hand dropped. “I’ll give Giles the details on Balthazar, and he can fill you in at the briefing. I’m sure you and Buffy will be on demon destruction duty in the warehouse district tonight.”

Faith continued to inch toward the main doors. Eventually, even Willow would get the hint. “That’s what we do. Kill demons,” she agreed. In fact, she usually enjoyed it. But right now, she really wanted to leave.

“Faith?” Willow was courting death.

“What?” Faith snapped.

Recoiling a little at Faith’s response, Willow nevertheless kept talking. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. About what I said at lunch last Monday. I should have apologized sooner.” Her eyes avoided Faith’s, her guilt was clear. “I didn’t mean it; you just made me mad and I said it without thinking. The Council was wrong, Faith; you didn’t deserve what…whatever they did to you.”

No way could Willow know the details. Unless she’d been a witness. Stomach churning, Faith stared mutely at Willow. Of course, she hadn’t deserved the punishment. But how did Willow know anything about it? Faith wasn’t going to ask. If she knew for sure Willow had been in the audience… Cold sweat broke out all over her body. No. Nonononono.

Willow must have seen Faith’s reaction. “No one told me anything, Faith, I swear!” So she hadn’t been a witness. A little of Faith’s panic eased. “In fact, Janna didn’t talk to me for hours afterward. She even shut me out of the link. But she _cried_ when we got home. When she fell asleep and the barrier dropped,” Willow seemed on the edge of tears herself, “she was so mad, Faith. Mad at herself and sad.”

Faith wasn’t listening to this anymore. She didn’t want to hear how Janna felt about her role in the punishment. Throat burning and chest tight, Faith took another step back. “I’ve got to go,” she said, voice squeaking. “I don’t want to be late.” With no thought to dignity or reputation, she turned and ran.

Most of the other students were long gone so Faith’s path was clear. She exploded through the main doors – and stopped immediately. A small crowd encircled a shiny limousine idling at the curb. Who drove a limo to a high school? Faith snorted. Probably that troll Snyder. Well, Faith didn’t have time to gape like the rest of the idiots. She was going to have to run to make it to City Hall anywhere close to on time.

Faith started down the stairs when the back window of the limo slid down. “Faith! There you are. Hop in!” The Mayor waved cheerfully at her from the inside the vehicle. As he spoke, the driver got out of the car and came around to open the door.

It was like a dream. Except Faith had _never_ imagined sliding into a limo as a uniformed driver held the door. “Thought I was meeting you at your place,” she said to cover her confusion and unease with the luxury the Mayor had provided.

“I couldn’t let my favorite Slayer walk all that way.” The door closed and the Mayor leaned back in his seat, arms outstretched along the entire length. “The car’s a perk of the office, Faith. Why shouldn’t I share it with the person who keeps my city safe?”

“Wicked.” Copying the Mayor’s pose, Faith leaned back and examined the roomy interior. Everything, right down to the door locks, was so shiny it sparkled. “You take this thing everywhere?”

“Only for VIP visits. Remember, I’m a simple man who happens to be the Mayor. I prefer to walk and enjoy the sights and sounds. Talk to people.” The Mayor leaned forward and pressed a button on a console. A cabinet Faith hadn’t noticed slid open. “How about a soda? I know it isn’t good for you, but one won’t hurt. Go ahead. I had it stocked last night.”

Stocked was right. Faith grabbed an ice cold Coke and popped the top. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, now. None of that. I’m Richard, remember?” The Mayor chose a bottled water and closed the cabinet. “How have you been, Faith? I worried about you after I left you at the Slayer House. That other Slayer Mr. Giles mentioned. The one making trouble for you. Is she still bothering you?”

“Buffy?” Faith shook her head. “Nah, we’re good.”

Richard frowned. “Are you sure? I may only be the Mayor of a small town, but I’m sure I could talk to the Council on your behalf. The thought of Buffy making you unhappy… Well, it makes me unhappy, Faith.”

He was funny. Funny and nice. No one had ever truly cared about her before. “I’m fine; I promise,” Faith responded. She couldn’t stop smiling. “We talked it out last night.”

Seemingly not convinced, Richard watched Faith closely. “You do seem less stressed today. Not a hint of a scowl in sight.” Then, with a lightening change in mood, he was all smiles again. “What should we do first? My office? A tour of City Hall? Meet some of my staff – who are positively giddy with the thought of talking to you? Did you know most of them have never talked to a Slayer?”

“Ain’t a surprise.” Faith swigged her Coke and then saluted Richard with the can. “We hang out in cemeteries with dead things. Unless you got some real weirdos or vampires workin’ for you, not a lot of chances to chat.”

A small tic near Richard’s eye sprang to life. “Very true. I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Conversation lagged while Richard drank his water and fussed with his tie.

Faith shifted nervously. Had she offended the Mayor? Maybe Giles was right. She didn’t know how to act with someone this important. Shoulders hunching, she glowered at the sweating Coke can.

“Speaking of cemeteries and the things living in them,” Richard said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “did you get those terrible bruises on patrol?”

Faith automatically touched the lingering tenderness on her face. “Me and B took on a group of vamps last night.” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t a true answer to his question. The vampires hadn’t gotten a hand on her. Buffy, though, had gotten both hands and feet all over Faith. “Some guys with swords hunting an amulet.”

“Swords?” Richard leaned forward as the limo slowed and then stopped. “That’s interesting.”

The door opened and a man held out a hand to Faith. Holding in a chuckle (who needed help getting out of a car?), she slid across the seat on her own and exited onto the sidewalk in front of City Hall. “Thanks,” she told the young man who’d “helped” her.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” With a respectful half-bow, he ushered her to one side and assisted the Mayor from the car.

“Tell me more about these sword swinging vampires,” Richard said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her up the front steps. “That’s unusual, isn’t it? I thought vampires didn’t carry weapons. Sort of low class demons, aren’t they?”

Faith didn’t know. She zoned out during lectures. The only important thing was how to kill a demon. “I guess.” Two men in matching dark suits and red ties waited at the top of the stone steps. They opened the door as Richard and Faith neared the top. “It don’t really matter. They’re dead; Giles has the amulet, and the demon they worked for is holed up in the warehouse district. Me and B have a date with him tonight.”

“You be careful, Faith. I’d be heartbroken if something bad happened to you.” He used the arm around her shoulders to pull her into a one-armed hug.


	14. Chapter 14

Bursting into the Slayer House, Faith took the stairs three at a time. She needed to burn some energy. Her muscles twitched in anticipation. A few rounds with the heavy bag…was impossible. Her rapid strides halted on the threshold of the second-floor gym. The glass shards were absent, as were the remains of the weight bench that had been smashed the night before. All of the other equipment and weapons were missing, too.

The gym was empty.

Apparently, Giles hadn’t been joking when he’d threatened to get rid of the workout area if Faith and Buffy couldn’t refrain from “destructive high jinks.” That sucked. If she didn’t find a way to unwind, Faith might explode.

Running was out. The pre-patrol briefing was only a couple of hours away. That didn’t leave enough time to change, really get into a groove, and still have time for a shower and dinner. Not Tai Chi, either. Faith _hated_ Tai Chi. Even if she (finally) managed to relax enough to get the movements right, it was way too non-aggressive to deal with her adrenaline rush.

Faith grabbed a towel from the hall closet and returned to the first floor. A few laps in the pool would have to do. Afternoon sunlight sparkled off the water as Faith stripped to bra and briefs. No more skinny-dipping after Giles’ near coronary when he’d glimpsed her swimming from his office window. That shade of red on a human face had scared even Faith into submission.

Cutting easily through the water, Faith set a comfortable pace back and forth across the pool. Hmmm. This had been the perfect plan. The water enveloped Faith, blocking out all other sights and sounds.

_“You know, Faith, I was serious.” Opening a door at the back of his massive office, Richard waved her forward._

_Faith stepped into a smaller office. It was bare except for the usual desk, chair, and filing cabinets. But it made up for the boring décor with one entire wall of windows. Wandering over, she peered at the perfectly groomed garden below. Faith would never admit it out loud. Not to anyone._

_She loved flowers. She could spend hours here, simply looking out the window._

_“I need someone with your talents,” Richard said softly. He stood behind her, far enough away not to infringe on Faith’s personal space. “This town. I love it. It’s in my blood. But it’s grown into a very scary place. I’m sure you’ve noticed the police force…”_

_Oh, yeah. Faith stretched out a hand and set it lightly against the window. She could stand here all day. “They suck,” she said bluntly._

_“Exactly. I need the people of Sunnydale to feel safe, Faith. They don’t feel safe right now. That’s where you come in.” Richard moved to stand at her side, watching her and not the scenery. “Leave the Council. Let this other Slayer, this Buffy, put up with their outdated thinking and rules. I want you to work for me. This would be your office. You’d help train my personal bodyguards and work with the police to get us some good officers. You’re an expert, Faith. We need you. **I** need you.” _

With one last kick, Faith reached for the pool deck and hauled herself out of the water. Her heart beat rapidly from the exercise. The buzz of energy was still there. In fact, despite the lingering heat of the evening, she was so wired her skin tingled and goose bumps pimpled her arms. If Balthazar didn’t have an army for Faith to kill, she’d have to risk breaking more Council rules and hit a bar. Booze and a good fuck were her last resorts when the restlessness got out of hand.

Faith wrung out her hair and wrapped up in her towel.

***

Tara yawned and took another sip of ginger tea. It had been so freeing to finally, openly, perform magic that she’d forgotten the mind had muscles just like the body. By the time she’d lowered the warding in the Work Room, a blinding reaction headache had been waiting. Janna had been nice enough not to laugh and to find her a quiet, shaded table on the patio.

She’d have to leave soon. It was getting dark, and she’d promised Trish the chance to grill her about yesterday’s trip to the club. That should be fun. Maybe Tara could simply hide here forever.

Unfortunately, her hiding place wasn’t as secluded as Tara thought. Wrapped in a towel, Faith walked into view. She stopped the second she saw Tara. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were here.”

It was clear she had wanted to hide, too. Tara saw no reason they couldn’t share the secluded spot. “Don’t run away. There are two chairs. Sit down.” Tara pointed to the other seat at the small table. “We can commune with Nature or contemplate the meaning of Life in silence. Together.”

“Nah. You were here first. I’ll head back…” Faith was already turning away.

Dear Goddess. Was Faith always this stubborn? “Faith,” Tara said in exasperation, “sit down.”

The emotion created an unintended snap to the comment, and Faith’s turn became a three hundred sixty degree spin. “Yes, Ma’am.” She sank into the chair and shook her head in confusion.

Tara nearly mimicked the gesture. What was she doing? Less than a week with a partial bond, and she was lording it over poor Faith. “You were looking for some peace and quiet, and I was trespassing on your spot, wasn’t I? If anyone should leave, it should be me,” Tara offered. Picking up her mug and book bag, she started to stand.

“Don’t.” Faith reached out and stopped short of actually touching Tara’s hand. “We can share the table. Ain’t like you’re Red and gonna talk my ear off.”

It was a strange sort of compliment, yet Tara beamed at Faith. Without commenting. After all, she wasn’t going to be like Red (who she assumed was the ever-talkative Willow) and ruin the mood.

Closing her eyes, Tara gave Faith the illusion of privacy. It also provided some much-needed headache relief for Tara. Without the glare of the sun, the pounding in her temples eased. She sighed and rolled her neck. The muscles, which had begun to resemble taut cables, stretched and released. Excellent. As the pain faded, Tara let the soft rustle of leaves and the sleepy chirping of the birds send her into a light trance.

A sense of well-being infused her. She’d never felt so strong, so confident, so unbelievably powerful. It was as if she’d swallowed the final rays of sunlight. Tara shivered as warmth blossomed from her chest to her fingers and toes. Even her hair tingled.

Slowly, the feeling ebbed. Tara reluctantly opened her eyes. It was full dark now. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and her stomach growled.

Wait. That wasn’t _her_ stomach. “Eh, been a while since lunch.” Faith, who’d been sprawled, boneless, in her chair, blinked sleepily. “Guess I fell asleep.” A massive yawn caused her jaw to crack.

“You must have needed the nap, sweetie,” Tara said softly. A grin snuck out as Faith’s stomach growled an even louder protest. “And now you need some dinner, before that _thing_ decides I’d make a good snack.”

Faith chuckled, and Tara glimpsed a pair of killer dimples. “I got more self control than that. Could probably make it to the kitchen without more than nibbling on your arm.” She stood and stretched,

The move reminded Tara that Faith was dressed only in her underwear. Tanned skin and rippling muscles displayed for a long moment before the towel was back in place. Tara swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. “Good,” she choked out. “I like my arms without teeth marks. It makes it easier to roll my sleeves up in the summertime.” Dear Goddess, Tara thought. She sounded like an idiot. Her face burned from the heat of her blush.   
  
“Guess I gotta head inside then. I don’t want you to have to be all buttoned up.” Faith gave Tara a slow once over. “Be a shame if that happened.” She might have said more but her gaze stopped when Faith glimpsed Tara’s marker. “Oh, hey. Didn’t mean nothin.’“ Raising her hands in a gesture of surrender, she mumbled, “Crossed enough lines for one week.”  
  
Tara responded instantly to the sudden self-loathing in Faith’s voice. “You didn’t cross any lines, sweetie.” Her smile was meant to reassure Faith and to reestablish their teasing mood. “And if you did, I jumped right over them with you. I wasn’t insulted and I’m not angry.” She stood, too, and began to clear up the remains of her tea. “Come on. I’ll escort you into the kitchen. If you don’t eat me between here and there, I’ll know you believe that you did nothing wrong.”  
  
Frowning, Faith regarded Tara as if she wasn’t ready to trust her.   
  
“I promise I’m not mad, Faith.” Holding out her hand, Tara waited. She was determined to stay frozen in place until Faith believed her. Luckily, Tara was patient because she had to wait several minutes.  
  
Faith finally heaved a dramatic sigh and hesitantly took Tara’s hand.   
  
“Thank you.” Somehow, Tara knew she’d accomplished a miracle in earning this much trust from the prickly Faith. “Dinner is this way, Slayer.” She started for the house, towing Faith along with her. “You know, if this Hungry Beast of yours comes around often, maybe you need something out of the ordinary. Maybe dinner out?”   
  
“You askin’ me out on a date?” Goddess, those dimples. “What would your sub say, huh?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Tara answered truthfully. “We haven’t really talked about it.” Or anything else. “Does it have to be a date? I mean, friends go out together all the time.” They made it to the kitchen, and Tara released Faith’s hand. A shiver rippled through her and she absently rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm up. “Willow has my email if you ever need a friend, Faith.”

***

“Ah, there you are!” Giles was in his usual place behind his desk when Faith walked into the office. “I thought perhaps I would need to deploy a search party to find you.”  
  
He was so not funny. “Mighta been a good idea. I ate so much I almost couldn’t make it out of the kitchen.” Faith rubbed her stomach ruefully. She’d been too nervous to do more than nibble at lunch, thanks to the meeting with the Mayor. By the time Tara had dropped her off by the refrigerator, Faith had been starving.   
  
“Well, now that you have successfully maneuvered the staircase, perhaps we can concentrate on tonight’s mission?” Giles gestured to the chair next to Buffy. “I asked Willow to research the amulet as well as the El Eliminati. Her findings were not what I had anticipated.”  
  
“Hey, I had an idea.” Faith couldn’t resist. “What if that Balthazar guy ain’t really dead? Would he send the Sword Vamps out looking for his necklace?” It was a direct hit. Giles gaped at her, and Faith did her best to maintain an innocent expression. “It makes sense, Giles. The Eliminati guys decided out of the blue to steal the amulet from a dead guy? Why now? Only good explanation is they got marchin’ orders from their boss.”  
  
Staring at her in bemusement, Giles said faintly, “Yes, that’s what Willow believes as well.”   
  
“That’s two votes for Breathing Balthazar. Where do Faith and I go to make sure Balthazar is really dead this time?” Buffy cut right to the chase. Either she’d begun channeling Faith’s usual impatience or things with Xander were still eating away at her.  
  
“Based on Willow’s in-depth research of recent vampire activity, various witness statements filed with the Council switchboard...” Giles settled into his full-on lecture mode.   
  
Faith tuned him out. She already knew they were headed to the warehouse district. She had more important things to worry about than listening to Giles explain every step in Willow’s research process or why they should take extra precautions for this demon in particular. She had the Mayor’s offer to consider. A non-Council job. Slayers weren’t _required_ to stay with the Council. They could, and did, fill other professions as long as they remained on the Council’s reserve list. What would it be like to have an office? To have people who worked _for_ her?

“Are you listening? Faith!” Giles’ voice snapped Faith back to the present.

“Hard to sleep with you yelling,” Faith responded automatically.

She scowled as his long-suffering sigh. “Tonight’s mission is for information-gathering only. Although Willow is confident she has discovered Balthazar’s location, there is nothing to explain his unexpected return to Sunnydale. Please refrain from your usual carnage and focus on finding answers.” He pinned them both with a steely stare that would have been more effective if he hadn’t tried it on two Slayers.

It wouldn’t do to tell him that, though. Faith remained slumped in her chair. Buffy had to respond. She raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear that we will be carnage free unless there is a sale. In which case, there might be a small purchase made because you know I could never resist a bargain on the death and dismemberment.”

Giles crumpled. “Go. Just… Please, go.”

Faith was up and out the door before he could change his mind. They stopped at the weapons closet, and this time she didn’t back away from the hardware. Short sword, daggers on both hips and in boot sheaths, and the usual collection of stakes. In case Balthazar had really come back to play, she looped a quiver of arrows across her back and grabbed a short bow. Giles might think Faith was too impatient for planning, but she wasn’t taking any chances tonight. Superior firepower equaled more dead demons. “Let’s find some facts, B.”

“Facts are of the good,” Buffy agreed. Fully armed, they left the House. Their destination was on the edge of town. Technology Park and the nearby manufacturing district housed dozens of deserted warehouses and storage facilities. It was Faith’s least favorite place in Sunnydale. The dirty, vampire-infested buildings reminded her of the Boston docks. Gripping the shaft of her bow, she followed Buffy down Greenwalt to K Street.

“Feel it?” Buffy asked softly

Like a bolt of lightning to the gut. “Yeah.” They were close. It was pitch black now. All the streetlights and security lights were out. Empty buildings closed in around them as they jogged down an alley. “I think Giles’s fact finding thing is gonna be more vamp killing.”

“Oops?” Buffy glanced over her shoulder at Faith, her lack of remorse evident.

Before Faith could reply, a pair of vampires stepped out of the shadows in front of Buffy. She immediately went on the offensive while Faith cursed and pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back. It was too dark. They were all too close.

The damned bow was less than useless. Tossing it aside, she ran to help Buffy. “I got the one on your left,” she shouted. Buffy took a half-step to her right, giving Faith a clear path at “her” vampire. It turned to dust seconds later. Unlike the bow, the arrow made a perfect stake.

Buffy staked the other vampire. Unfortunately, there was no time to celebrate. More vampires poured into the alley. “You get the impression we may not have a chance to find Balthazar?” she asked Faith as the real fighting began.

Faith was too busy staking vampires to answer. Stab. Dust. Duck. Repeat. It was _awesome_. Riding the wave of adrenaline, Faith ignored the pain from a kick she hadn’t blocked. The sting along her cheek from a cut.

Slaying. There was _nothing_ like it. “We’re winning, B!” Only a few vampires remained. Faith took out two more and the coast was clear. Buffy was still fighting. Faith could hear the battle behind her. Turning, she saw a vampire throw himself at Buffy’s back.

Coward. Faith charged forward and grabbed his arm. A quick twist and he stared at her in shock until her stake lodged in his chest. The life faded from his eyes as blood rushed over her hands.


	15. Chapter 15

Tara woke all at once, muscles taut and senses screaming in fear. No. Nononononononono. The word repeated endlessly in her mind. Instinct drove her out of bed. She scrambled frantically for the bedroom door. She had to leave. Now. She had to run. Get away.

Her shaking hands fumbled with the doorknob. When Tara finally wrenched it open, she barked her shins as she tried to exit before it was fully open. The pain didn’t matter. Tara was blind to anything except pure panic. By the time she reached the living room, she was running all out.

Running right into the coffee table. The clunky glass and metal table was a much more effective barrier than her bedroom door had been. With a cry of mingled pain and surprise, Tara fell forward onto the table. Luckily, the glass remained intact; although the screws holding the legs to the tabletop were torn out. Tara and the heavy glass dropped to the floor with a crash. Panting and biting her lip in pain, she took stock of the situation.

This was just like the coffee shop. Now that Tara was fully awake, she traced the alien emotions flooding her mind. Traced them _almost_ back to the sender. But not quite. The bondlink was soft around the edges and so narrow in places Tara was afraid to push too hard.

“Tara!” Overhead lights blinked on and Trish rushed over while Maxie hovered in the hallway. “Oh my God! What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Climbing unsteadily to her feet, Tara pointed to the table. “I owe you a new coffee table, though. This one will never be the same.”  She limped the few steps toward the couch and sat down. The coffee table hadn’t been the only casualty of the collision. Twin gashes marred both her shins. Blood trickled from the one on the left.

“Maxie.” Tara had never heard that much command in Trish’s voice. “Get the first aid kit and some ice.” She sat next to Tara on the couch and took her hand. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Why did you slaughter the table? What had it ever done to you?”

As usual, Tara responded, “I don’t know.” She watched Trish frown and shifted on the couch. “It’s like the other night at the Pump.” Only far worse. In the back of her mind, Tara _still_ sensed her bondmate’s terror. “I woke up scared out of my mind. Literally. My bondmate. The emotions were coming through the link.”

“Didn’t I tell you there was no way to find him or her?” Trish’s voice held fond exasperation. “Were you going to run through town in your tank top and shorts?”

Through town all the way to anywhere else. Anywhere safer.

Maxie hurried back into the room and knelt at Tara’s feet. With gentle touches, she wiped a washcloth over the cuts then dabbed antiseptic on them.

Hissing at the sting, Tara gripped the couch cushion tightly. She had to get a handle on the bond - and she had no idea how to do that. Tara wasn’t even sure it was possible to force the bond wider, to reach through before it was fully formed. But Goddess, she was worried. In the two tiny glimpses she’d gotten through the link, her bondmate had been angry enough to kill and terrified.  No one should live with that kind of continuing trauma. “I’m so sorry about waking you up. I’m really fine - especially after Maxie’s nursing.”   
  
Maxie glowered at her. “You’re sorry? Geez, Tara. You could have really hurt yourself if that glass had broken. We don’t care about the damned table.”  
  
“What she said,” Trish chimed in. “Only with a little more politeness and a whole lot less attitude.”  
  
Despite wincing and dropping her eyes, Maxie didn’t appear ready to put her attitude away. It was sweet and yet it grated on Tara’s already jangled nerves. “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Maxie mumbled. Then she ruined the grudging apology with, “I’d like to smack you upside the head. Who worries more about sleep or a table when a friend’s in trouble?”

“Tara, are you sure you aren’t hurt?” Trish moved closer and gripped the back of Maxie’s collar in a clear warning to behave. “You look terrible. This is eating you up, isn’t it?”

Absolutely. With a wan smile, Tara brushed off Trish’s question. “There’s nothing I can do until the bond is complete. As you pointed out, I don’t know who my sub is. I don’t know where they are.” Tara didn’t know anything and it was driving her crazy. Frustration made her want to scream and cry. Maybe throw a few things around the room. Yet all she could really do was sit on the couch and wait for Fate.

Tara hated Fate. Obviously, Fate hated Tara right back.

“Go on. Take Maxie to bed. I want to sit here for a while and think,” she told Trish.

“If you’re sure.” Trish was too perceptive. She wasn’t buying Tara’s reassurances.

It was up to Tara to convince her. “Trish, there are so many things going on in my head. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I need some time. I promise I’m not going to run through Sunnydale in sleep clothes. All I’m going to do is sit on the couch and think.”

She glimpsed a hint of tears in Trish’s eyes as she bent and gently kissed Tara’s cheek. “You better be right here, thinking, when I get up later. Or I’ll turn Maxie loose on you.”

***

“Oh my God, Faith. He’s human!” Buffy had a flair for stating the obvious. “We have to call the police.” She wrenched Faith’s bloody hands away from the man and gripped the stake embedded in his chest.

Call the police. Faith couldn’t make sense of the words. A strange rushing sound filled her mind, keeping her from understanding Buffy’s comment. It was suddenly stifling in the alley. She couldn’t breathe. “B…” Faith’s voice was a mere thread of sound.

“Faith!” The shout forced Faith’s head up to meet Buffy’s determined gaze. “Call. The. Police.” No longer yelling, Buffy now spoke in a calm, soothing tone. “Your phone is in your front pocket. I saw you put it there. Take it out, Faith. Come on. Stay with me. Get your phone and dial 911.”

She could do that. It just took so long to accomplish, Faith marveled. It seemed like years passed as she fished the phone from her jeans pocket and flipped it open. The keypad swam in and out of focus.

“911, Faith,” Buffy repeated.

Blinking helped Faith bring the phone into focus. She punched the numbers as ordered.

“911, what is your emergency?” a new voice asked.

Now what? Staring helplessly at Buffy, Faith silently begged for help.

“Tell them what happened, Faith.” Hands and clothes covered in blood, Buffy didn’t move to take Faith’s phone. “Hurry!” Some of her calm disappeared. Faith idly noticed how very pale Buffy appeared in the dark alley. Stark white against a black background.

“Caller, are you there? Caller?”

Faith shook her head to forcibly restart her brain. Alley. Vampires. They’d been fighting. Oh, fuck. She’d stabbed a man. She’d stabbed him and he was dying in Buffy’s arms. “We were Slaying,” she said into the phone. And just like that, words broke free and tumbled out.

Sirens echoed in the distance as the words finally dried up. “I think he’s dying,” Faith numbly told the dispatcher.

“Please remain at the scene. Units and emergency personnel have been routed to your position.” The dispatcher was eerily calm. It was probably supposed to help keep callers from panicking. It had the opposite effect on Faith. The smooth, careful cadence reminded Faith of the kids she’d run the streets with in Boston. They’d used that same tone to lure unsuspecting strays up to them for whatever torment they had devised.

Taking several shaky steps away from Buffy and the man, Faith dropped the phone to the ground. Dimly, she heard the dispatcher’s continued questions, muffled by the concrete. Buffy was focused on staunching the blood pouring from the man’s chest. No one else would ever catch her.

She’d waited too long, though. Squad cars pulled into one end of the alley. An ambulance blocked the other. Cops, emergency responders, and lights in a kaleidoscope of colors surrounded Faith. It was too late. Faith was trapped.

“Slayer Lehane?” A female police officer approached. “If you could come with me, please. I need to take your statement about what happened tonight.”

***

The same cop drove Faith and Buffy back to Slayer House. Actually, she wasn’t just “a cop.” Faith’s interrogator had been the department’s liaison to the Council.

_“What were you thinking when the vampires attacked?” Lieutenant Thomason gestured for Faith to precede her out of the alley, away from the body and the blood._

_Thinking? “Me and B didn’t think. Got an alley full of vampires, it’s stakes out and full speed ahead.” For a cop who dealt with Slayers, Thomason was clueless. “There wasn’t time to think.”_

_It was better once they skirted the cruisers taking up one end of the alley. Faith blinked, grateful for the lack of the blinding red, blue, and white lights. “I understand. I’ve experienced the same thing. You get in a jam; you react. I imagine it’s tougher for you, though. Vampires are a lot faster than humans. And they don’t care about taking your money or stealing your favorite pair of Air Jordans. They want to kill you.”_

_“Yeah,” Faith muttered._

_“So explain to me how this went down. You’re in the zone. Vampires all around.” Thomason’s attempt to stake an imaginary vampire caused Faith to snort. If she tried that move on a real vamp, she’d be dead. “Then another vamp jumps on Slayer Summers.” Thomason stopped until Faith nodded. “I thought Slayers could sense if someone was a vampire? And I know they are stronger and faster. Why didn’t you notice any of the differences between the other attackers and the Deputy Mayor? The man you killed. You were at City Hall earlier today. Did you meet him? Did he tell you he would be here tonight?”_

“Here you go.” Thomason pulled up to the curb. “Home sweet home.” She met Faith’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “It’s been a rough night, kid. Keep your chin up. I’ll file my report, send it up my chain of command and to your Council before morning. If we’re lucky, all you’ll need to do is maybe answer a few more questions before getting on with your life.”

“Thanks for everything,” Buffy answered. She grabbed Faith’s arm and dragged her out of the car. Her grip tightened painfully when Faith tried to jerk free. “Stop it!” she hissed as Thomason waved and put the car in gear.

Faith wasn’t ready to listen. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go.” Buffy had been grimly silent since Faith had finished her interview with Thomason.

“Shut up and listen to me.” Buffy rarely spoke to anyone with that level of Dominance – and it stopped Faith in her tracks. “I didn’t want to say anything at the scene.” She took a slow breath, expression fierce. “The Council sent a representative down from LA; that’s why Giles wasn’t with us for the questioning. The guy wouldn’t let him leave the House.”

The blood. The feel of flesh and bone under her stake. None of it had really registered for Faith.

This did.

She’d killed a man, and the Council had sent someone to Sunnydale.

This was it. Faith knew it. The Council was going to sentence her to the worst punishment in their arsenal: deactivation. They’d take away her Slayer powers, and Faith would go back to being just Faith. A nobody. A homeless, good for nothing, sometimes prostitute.

“I need you to listen to me, Faith,” Buffy went on.

Why? It was too late. Faith’s fear rose so high she grew lightheaded. But some other emotion uncoiled, too. Snaking through her, it pushed the fear out with slow, deliberate intent. Faith didn’t need to be afraid. The Council was wrong about her. About everything. Killing that man in the alley had been an accident. Everyone knew accidents happened. Besides, the Deputy Mayor…

Some of Faith’s righteous anger faded. Fear returned. The Deputy Mayor. He worked for Richard. Would _he_ blame Faith? Or would he understand she hadn’t meant to kill him?

Buffy shook Faith slightly. “When we go inside, you need to stay quiet. Don’t say _anything_ , OK? Giles and I have this covered. Just sit tight and let us handle this. We won’t let the Council do anything to you. I was there, Faith. I know what happened. I thought the guy was a vamp, too, and you were only trying to save me.”

Damn right.

“Do you understand? Can you not go off the deep end? Please?” Buffy pleaded with Faith.

Did she think Faith was stupid? Faith wasn’t going to trust her future to either Buffy or Giles. The only person dealing with the Council would be her. It would have been a great plan, if she could have made her plan stick. Sadly, Buffy was not only stronger (with an established death grip on Faith’s arm); she was also a Dominant with no compunction about forcing Faith to follow orders. As soon as Buffy sensed Faith’s rebellious thoughts, she was all Domme. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”  
  
Pushing Faith in front of her, Buffy frog marched Faith toward the House. They’d almost reached the front door, despite Faith’s dragging feet and struggles, when a van screeched to a halt in the street. A man and woman hopped out and a bright light spotlighted Faith and Buffy. “I’m Hannah Rizal from KCTC, News Channel Seven. Can you comment on the death of Deputy Mayor Allan Finch? Reports indicate that Slayer Lehane stabbed him during a fight?”   
  
Buffy nearly picked Faith up and carried her the final few feet into the House. She slammed and locked the door behind them. She did not stop in the foyer as Faith expected, though. The forced march continued up three flights of stairs and past Giles’ office. Buffy dragged Faith into the next room, a small sitting room Giles often used for sleeping if meetings ran late.  “Since you won’t cooperate, we’ll do this the hard way.”   
  
Apparently, Giles did more in this room than sleep. And Buffy knew it. She quickly located wrist and ankle cuffs in a dresser drawer. In seconds, she had Faith on her knees. Clips bound each set of cuffs together. Adding insult to injury, Buffy then attached Faith’s wrist cuffs to an eyebolt embedded in the floor with a short length of chain from the same drawer. “I’m sorry, Faith. But you have to trust us. We won’t let the Council do anything to you.” The door closed softly behind her.


	16. Chapter 16

The chain binding Faith’s cuffs to the floor was too short for her to stand. She tried anyway and ended up in a very uncomfortable crouch. Damn Buffy! Yanking on the chain with all her strength did nothing, either. With a growl, Faith dropped back to her knees.

There had to be a way out of here. She didn’t trust Buffy or Giles any farther than she could throw them at the moment. Considering Faith couldn’t stand – and that her wrists were chained – throwing anything except curses was impossible.

In other words, she didn’t trust Buffy or Giles at all.

Faith examined the room more closely. The nearby single bed was shoved into the corner. Dresser. Chest of drawers. That was it. Nothing else, unless you counted the eyebolt in the floor currently holding Faith prisoner, and the collection of other bolts mounted in various locations on the ceiling and the walls. Bars covered the tiny window, too. This room hadn’t been intended as an occasional crash pad. It was a prison.

Yanking harder against the chain continued to be pointless. Faith felt bruises forming on her wrists despite the soft lining inside the cuffs. One last, full-strength tug…and Faith slumped on the floor in defeat. She was stuck here until Buffy came back. The thought triggered an immediate response; restless energy poured through Faith until her muscles jumped and twitched with the need to move. She shifted on her knees. Half rose until the chains halted her progress. Damn it! She had to get out of here…

_He was coming to her room again. Faith heard his footsteps, each heavy thud against the floor. His keys jangled in his pockets. Scrambling out of bed, she fumbled with the lock on her bedroom window._

_It wouldn’t open! Faith banged at the slightly dented latch. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t letting him touch her again. Never again. Her heartbeat increased with every step in the hallway. Faith was panting now. She had to get out, but the latch was stuck. Please, Faith begged silently. Please open. Her hands hurt from beating against the lock._

“Over my dead body!” Buffy’s strident shout, filtering through the wall, snapped Faith out of the memory. “You’re crazy if you think…” The words faded away.

Wiping at the cold sweat on her forehead, Faith focused all her attention on listening. What had gotten Buffy so riled? She rarely lost her cool. For a long minute, there was nothing except silence from Giles’ office.

Then a clipped voice murmured something Faith couldn’t hear, even with enhanced senses.

“I will not permit anything of the sort.” That was definitely Giles. Who was the other voice? “As I have repeatedly mentioned,” Giles continued before the other voice interrupted.

“The Council clearly disagrees.” The Council. The unfamiliar voice must be the Council representative from Los Angeles. “That is why I am here. Ms. Lehane…”

Faith nearly screamed when the voice suddenly faded. The man hadn’t used her title. He hadn’t called her _Slayer_ Lehane. Was that significant? The chain rattled as Faith shifted uneasily. She’d known deactivation was a last-resort solution to an out of control Slayer. Until this moment, Faith hadn’t believed the Council would seriously consider it for her. She wasn’t out of control! She broke a few stupid rules: curfew, drinking, and skipping classes. Those weren’t enough for the Council to take her permanently out of the game.

Except tonight hadn’t been a broken rule. Faith had killed a human. What were they going to do to her?

The room next door erupted into shouts. Voices merged and blended so that Faith couldn’t separate them. Finally, Giles bellowed, “Enough! I have had _quite_ enough from both of you! Buffy,” this was far quieter, although still loud enough for Faith to hear. Barely breathing, she leaned toward the wall as much as the chain allowed and strained her ears. “Please stop threatening Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. As amusing as it may be, it is not solving our current dilemma.”

Buffy didn’t respond, but Faith heard a dull thud followed by a cleared throat.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce spoke next. He needed to be louder. The wall muffled everything but his disapproving tone. He must be related to Willow. He went on and on and on. After a few minutes, Faith grew impatient.

The chains hadn’t loosened since the last time she’d yanked at them. Scowling, she carefully toppled onto her side. It was at least slightly more comfortable than kneeling on the hard floor. Voices rose and fell as sunlight brightened the room. Faith was helpless and trapped. Head pillowed awkwardly on her arms, she waited for the three people in the room next door to decide her fate.

***

Eyes gritty, Tara stared at the television. Leno had given way to “Pinky and the Brain” reruns and then more child-themed cartoons.  It was all white noise as far as she was concerned. Although her bondmate’s panic had faded, there was still a low level buzz in Tara’s mind. The link was closed except for a tiny conduit leaking a trickle of emotion. She could easily have blocked the emotions. Bondmates were individuals, after all. The bond simply allowed them to share thoughts and feelings; when necessary, they could close the link temporarily.  
  
She heard Trish and Maxie getting ready for the day. Normally, their routine was comforting. The low murmur of voices down the hallway. The sound of the shower. Today, it emphasized how alone Tara felt.  
  
 _“Why can’t I into town like Donny, Mama?” Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, Tara glared out the window. The sun was shining. It shouldn’t. It should be dark and rainy. And cold. “Everybody else goes places. They don’t stay at home all the time.” And everybody else had friends._  
  
 _With a warm laugh, Tara’s mother hugged her close. “If you went somewhere, who would keep **me** company, hmm? Who would help me bake cookies? Or make pancakes? And what about learning about the Goddess and magic? We only get to do that when Master and Donny are gone.” She kissed Tara’s cheek. “Now, stop frowning. What if your face froze like that?” She twisted her face into a terrible frown._  
  
 _Tara didn’t want to stop being angry. She hated being stuck on the farm. She wanted to play with girls her own age. “Can I at least invite someone to my birthday party?” She was turning seven in a week. “Please, Mama?”_  
  
“You still up?” Maxie wandered into the kitchen and flipped on the lights. “Did you get any sleep at all?”  
  
Tara knew she was in trouble. It took every iota of self-control not to snap at Maxie. Of course she was still up. She was sitting on the couch, staring at the television. Did she look like she was sleeping? “A little,” she lied softly. Maxie wasn’t at fault; she didn’t deserve Tara’s wrath. Picking up the remote, she flicked through the channels. The new cartoons were just too weird to watch. “I’ve got a paper due next week. I’m heading to the library as soon as it opens. Then maybe I’ll take a nap.”  
  
Trotting into the living room, Maxie set a plate with buttered toast and mug of coffee on the end table next to the Tara. She paused, watching Tara closely.  
  
“I’m fine.” Tara was getting better at lying. This one came out smoothly; she was even able to smile slightly. “You don’t have to worry about me. Or take care of me.” Picking up the toast, she took a bite. “But thank you for breakfast.”

Maxie didn’t move.

Deliberately glancing away, Tara watched a red “Breaking News” banner scroll across the television. What started as a way to avoid an uncomfortable conversation became a life-changing event.

The excited news anchor was replaced with a close-up camera shot of Sunnydale’s Slayer House. “Early this morning, Sunnydale Police received reports that Deputy Mayor Allan Finch had been murdered. We’re here at Slayer House where the suspected killer, Faith Lehane, had no comment.” The scene changed yet again.

Tara watched a reporter rush up to Faith and Buffy as they climbed from a police cruiser. The footage must have been shot earlier because it was still dark. Buffy shielded Faith from the camera and the outthrust microphone. “I’m Hannah Rizal from KCTC, News Channel Seven. Can you comment on the death of Deputy Mayor Allan Finch? Reports indicate that Slayer Lehane stabbed him during a fight?”

Buffy kept her body between Faith and the reporter, hurrying her into the House.

As the news anchor returned, Tara turned up the volume. She didn’t want to miss any of the story. Paying absolutely no attention to Maxie, who silently curled up on the couch next to her, Tara focused news report.

“At approximately one fifteen this morning, police received _this_ 911 call,” a smiling newscaster announced. After a brief pause, Faith’s strained voice poured through the living room.

“We were Slaying. Vamps. Maybe two dozen of them with swords.” She sounded so young. Young and dazed and scared. Tara shuddered with the force of Faith’s words as she continued. “One of them grabbed B, and I grabbed him back. Staked him. Only…he’s bleeding. I think he’s dying.”

Faith’s voice, even over the recording, pulled at Tara. Goddess, Faith was _so scared_. Tara needed to be there for her, had to help Faith.

“Wait. What time did they say the call came in?” Maxie leaned across Tara and stole the remote from the end table. Risking life and limb, she clicked through several other television stations until settling on one where the call recording had just begun.

Burying her face in her hands, Tara endured a repeat of Faith’s dazed comments.

“Did you hear?” Maxie was oddly exuberant, and it fired Tara’s anger.

“What, Max? Did I hear how scared Faith was? Did I hear she fought off a bunch of vampires in an alley?” Tara’s voice rose with each word. She was peripherally aware of someone moving across the room.

Trish pulled Maxie off the couch and pushed her protectively behind her. “Stand down, Tar,” she said warningly.

“No! Look.” Ducking under Trish’s arm, Maxie pointed at the television. “The guy said Faith called 911 at one fifteen.” Her finger moved to where Tara had stacked the remains of the coffee table during her all-night vigil. “I didn’t look at the clock when all the racket started, but…”

Oh, Goddess. Tara’s knees turned to water and she collapsed back onto the couch. Maxie made sense. However, there was one big problem. “I can’t feel her,” she said. Hoping that had changed, Tara pushed through the bond - and ran smack dab into a mental barricade. She couldn’t batter at the barrier. It might hurt Faith. Not to mention there was no proof that Faith was on the other side of the link. They had nothing more than circumstantial evidence that she and Tara were bonded.  
  
Right on the heels of that thought, Trish said, “We don’t know it’s Faith, little girl. The bond isn’t fully formed.” She kissed Maxie’s fierce frown. “I agree it fits last night’s festivities. But what if we’re wrong?  Tara might focus on Faith and completely miss when her _real_ bondmate reaches out.”  
  
Trish was absolutely correct. Yet, Tara didn’t care. Somewhere deep inside, she knew Faith was her submissive. She knew it. Her lips curled. She’d hit the jackpot for bondmates. Sexy, strong, and stubborn. And the dimples. The room grew stifling as Tara remembered those dimples and Faith’s warm brown eyes.  
  
“I think you’re too late with the warning.” Maxie snickered. “Look at her. She’s already imagining Faith on her knees.”  
  
“No, I’m not,” Tara protested. She wasn’t. Not quite. Although, the image _was_ a good one, now that Maxie had put it out there. Then the vision changed. Faith wasn’t collared and kneeling. She was standing over a faceless body in a dark alley, hands covered in blood. Tara stiffened. How could she have forgotten?  
  
Guilt swamped her. Here she was, getting hot and bothered, when Faith was facing possible criminal charges. “Trish, can you find out what’s the usual response to Slayers accidentally killing someone?” She was sure Faith hadn’t meant to kill anyone except vampires. Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried about what might happen. From what she’d witnessed on her first visit to the Slayer House, Faith had already been on the wrong side of Council regulations.  
  
“Tar...” For once, Trish didn’t appear ready to dive in and help.  
  
“It’s alright,” Tara assured her; although the refusal hurt. “Don’t worry about it.”

Shaking her head, Trish said, “No. It’s not alright, just not for the reason you think. Your bond with Faith isn’t complete. No one knows about it except you. Well, and me and Maxie. If we start poking into Council law, someone’s going to notice. This is a small town. There are only two Slayers. Do you really want to have reporters on the doorstep trying to figure out why you’re interested in the case?”

“No.” Goddess, no. If Faith didn’t feel their bond then Faith wasn’t _ready_ for the bond. Tara met Trish’s concerned gaze. She leaned back on the couch, mulling her options.

When the solution hit her, she wanted to bang her head against a wall. She was an idiot. Trish didn’t have to hunt for the information in a public law library. Tara had actually toured a much more private, far more extensive source of Slayer law and lore: Mr. Giles’ library in the Slayer House. All Tara had to do was find a legitimate reason for being there.


	17. Chapter 17

Faith’s doze ended when the door swung open. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. You’ve got a date with destiny.” She wasn’t sure if Buffy was joking or not. It was hard to tell with the dark circles under Buffy’s eyes and the dirt and blood dried on her face and neck.

Blood. The chains rattled as Faith stared at the dark stains on her own hands. How could she have…

“Don’t.” Bending down, Buffy roughly pulled Faith to her knees. “We don’t have time – and I don’t have the energy – to deal with one of your freak outs.” She unlocked the chain and removed the cuffs around Faith’s wrists and ankles.

Freaking out wasn’t in Faith’s plan. Somehow managing to get to her feet was a bigger priority. The nap, combined with the fight and the hard floor, had turned Faith’s muscles into knots. Unhappy knots. With a wince, she climbed up using a hand on the bed and rotated her neck and shoulders. _Now_ freaking out was an option.  “Heard some of the shit next door,” Faith announced. “The new guy wants to deactivate me, don’t he?” She’d fight him. Fight them all. Keeping her voice level with effort, she continued. “I ain’t going, Buffy. You know I didn’t kill that guy on purpose.” Trying not to be obvious, Faith scanned the room for potential weapons.  
  
The chains were her best bet - if she could get to them first. Maybe the bed frame once it was broken apart. Other than that, though, Faith was on her own. Mano a mano with Buffy. Those were bad odds. Her breathing grew erratic, matching her heartbeat.   
  
“It’s not all about tonight,” Buffy answered. “You do stupid things, Faith. A lot of stupid things, and I can’t...” Turning away, Buffy trudged for the door. “Come on. Giles and the other Council member are waiting for us. They’ll tell you what the Council’s decided.”  
  
Faith didn’t move. “Why can’t you tell me?” They might not see eye to eye on everything, but she respected Buffy.   
  
“Can’t.” Buffy didn’t even turn around. “That’s part of the deal. I have to let Watcher Wes tell you. He didn’t think I would be stern enough.” A tight laugh drifted over her shoulder as she walked into the hall. “Maybe he’s right. You sure as Hell haven’t listened to me any of the other times I’ve tried talking you off the ledge.”

The words hit Faith like a well-thrown punch. “Talk me off the ledge?” she shot back. “There is no ledge, B. I ain’t thinkin’ about ending it all.” She was so fucking tired of this shit. “You know what, Buffy? You and Giles act like the Council knows everything; like they got a right to make all the decisions for you. I don’t! The rules don’t matter. Slaying does.” She deliberately echoed a comment Richard had made the night they met. “Sunnydale should be glad we’re here. We’re heroes. A night at the bar every once in a while ain’t a big deal when I’m saving lives every fucking night.”

She felt a surge of satisfaction when Buffy whipped around and got right in her face. Unfortunately, the good feelings didn’t last. “You didn’t save Allan Finch’s life, did you? Or your Watcher’s.”

Faith saw red. “Saved your ass instead, Buffy. Remember that? Remember telling me you thought Finch was a vamp about to knife you?” There was no way she would ever discuss Diana with Buffy. Not in this lifetime or any other. She didn’t register Buffy’s flinch at her retort. “Whatever. I don’t care what you or the fuckin’ Council think.”

“Keep that to yourself.” Buffy shoved open the door to Giles’ office and dragged Faith into the room with yet another death grip on her arm. Once they were inside, Buffy closed and locked the door. “Faith, you know Giles.”

Duh. Now that the moment of truth was happening, Faith’s anger wavered. Fear clawed at her chest. It got hard to breathe normally.

“And this is Mr. Wyndham-Pryce,” Buffy continued, gesturing at the young man standing ramrod straight in front of Giles’ desk. “He’s been assisting at the Los Angeles Slayer Headquarters and has kindly driven down to speak with you.”

Fear dug its nails right through Faith’s heart. Buffy had her party manners on. Watcher Wes had to have a lot of juice with the Council. Buffy didn’t bow and scrape for just anyone. Responding to Buffy’s manners and Wyndham-Pryce’s pinch-faced expression, Faith hid her need to run with a defiantly raised chin.

Her decision may not have been the best. Wyndham-Pryce’s lips nearly disappeared as he pressed them together even tighter for an instant. “Slayer Lehane, I believe you know why you are here. However, to avoid any possible misunderstanding, allow me to read the full list of charges compiled by the governing members of the Council.”

Faith locked her knees and crossed her arms over her chest. “I got a choice?” she asked. She could almost _hear_ Buffy’s teeth grinding at her attitude, and Giles immediately whipped off his glasses and began cleaning them. Faith didn’t care.

“Absolutely not.” Clearing his throat, Wyndham-Pryce brandished a leather portfolio and began to read. “This is a detailed report of rule infractions for one Faith Lehane.”

Ignoring the shakes trying to take over her body, Faith strolled closer to the desk and sat down in the same chair she’d used for last night’s briefing. Her feet found a comfortable spot next to Giles’ nameplate.

“March 15, 1998: Refusal to attend Slayer Induction course at the Boston Slayer Headquarters.” Watcher Wes had the most irritating voice ever. Nasal and whiny, with an added layer of innate superiority.

Not needing to hear the list of broken rules and episodes of insubordination in her file, Faith closed her eyes and tuned out The Voice.

Unfortunately, Wyndam-Pryce wouldn’t accept such behavior. Knocking her feet to the floor, he waited until she sat up and met his eyes. “As I was saying, Ms. Dormer also indicated that Ms. Lehane snuck out of the Slayer Headquarters on no less than nine occasions.”

He could make Faith keep her eyes open and her feet on the floor. He could _not_ force her to listen. There were some interesting scratch marks on the top of Giles’ desk. Fingernails? Did Lydia visit Giles during the day and put him through his paces? Faith stared at the marks and let her imagination run wild for a minute.

Even the lure of staid Giles bent over his own desk couldn’t drown out Wyndam-Pryce’s voice when he announced, “October 7, 1998, Ms. Lehane evaded a Retrieval Team after the death of Ms. Dormer and began a forty-eight hour period of debauchery.”

Debauchery. It was a big word to describe Faith’s trip to every bar and submissive club in Boston. She’d been drunk and trying to get drunker when the Retrieval Team finally found her and dragged her back to Slayer Central. She hadn’t been so lost in an alcoholic daze that she’d forgotten the way Diana’s blood had pooled on the floor of the warehouse. Or the sound of Kakistos’ taunts and laughter when Faith hadn’t been able to save her Watcher.

_“You don’t wish to join our party? How impolite,” Kakistos said. His creepy fingernails waved in the air in front of Diana’s face before pointing directly at Faith. “I thought you Watchers trained your charges better. Such a basic thing as good manners.”_

_His voice was lost as Diana screamed in response to the knife Kakistos dragged across her chest._

_Frozen in place, Faith couldn’t even manage a whimper. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe…_

Faith snapped back to the present to the harsh sound of her own panting breaths.

“Faith?” She’d been so lost in the memory she hadn’t notice Giles’ approach. He gently touched her shoulder and peered at her in concern. “Are you well? I cannot believe none of us considered the possibility you had been injured.” His eye flickered toward Wyndam-Pryce and his voice turned cold. “Or that you had been emotionally impacted by last night’s tragedy.”

For an instant, less than even a heartbeat, Faith leaned into his touch. His concern. Then Faith stiffened and pulled away. She didn’t need his pity. “I keep tellin’ ya,” she snapped, “headin’ out for a drink ain’t a crime. And no one told me the Council ran a prison. I can leave whenever I want.”  She dared anyone to contradict her statement. Despite the list of transgressions, Faith _had_ completed the required Induction Training. She did not have to stay with the Council.

And that concept grew more and more tempting as Wyndam-Pryce set down his portfolio. “Ms. Lehane, you obviously do not recognize the significant threat you currently pose to society. You are, in American lingo, a ‘loose cannon.’ The Council can and will deny your release from the Sunnydale Slayer House until I assure them your retraining is a complete success.”

Retraining. Deny your release. Faith shot to her feet. “You can’t keep me here!” she shouted.

“Yes, I can.” Wyndam-Pryce was not impressed with her reaction. Straightening his already perfectly aligned tie, he sniffed in disapproval. “Wards have been set around the grounds. Should you attempt to leave without a proper escort, the wards will prevent you from crossing property lines. I will immediately be alerted regarding your actions.”

Faith’s hands turned into fists, and she grinned tightly when Watcher Wes couldn’t _quite_ prevent himself from stepping back.

“God, I’m too tired for this. You had your shot, Wes. Now it’s my turn,” Buffy interrupted the tense scene. She raised her hand when Wes started to object. “Nope. It’s time for you to shut up and sit down. You, too, Faith. I mean it. I’m tired. And the two of you are acting like bullies on a playground.”

When no one moved, Buffy’s eyes narrowed.

“I. Said. Sit. Down!” Dominance dripped from every word.

Faith didn’t even bother with a chair. Her knees flexed in response as she dropped to the floor, head bowed. She saw Giles’s legs bend and then straighten in her peripheral vision before he sat down in the other chair. Only Wes appeared immune to Buffy’s order.

“I’m done playing games,” Buffy continued. “Faith, you get to choose from the following options: You can go to England for full retraining. The program takes two years, and the Council gets to decide if you pass at the end – or if they will deactivate you permanently. That’s Option One. Option Two is you stay here, stay as in you don’t leave the grounds except for school, with me or Wes as an escort. You jump through some hoops. Pass a few tests. And you’re back to full duty.”

Two options? Who was Buffy kidding? She was full of shit. “What if I choose Option Three?” Faith snapped. “What if I tell you to stuff your fucking training and leave?”

“Like I said. You have two options,” Buffy said. “England or here. Pick.”

“Here.” And somewhere between the first hoop and the first test, Faith would find a way out of Sunnydale.

***

Feeling like a complete fraud, Tara scanned the UC-Sunnydale Student Union. A few serious students sat at tables strewn with textbooks. Most tables held less industrious people blearily sipping coffee.

Tara fit into neither category. She had another reason for being here. A reason which had just entered the building.

“Good morning.” Janna yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. Late night.” She didn’t offer to explain, and Tara didn’t bother to ask. “I was…surprised by your call.”

No doubt. Not only had Tara been less than receptive to Janna’s offer when she’d been at the House on Friday, the timing of this morning’s call had been horrible. “I saw the news,” she said truthfully. “And I changed my mind. You and Willow can’t be everywhere, Janna. If there was someone else attached to the House, maybe…”

“Accidents happen,” Janna said defensively. “Witches rarely patrol with the Slayers.”

“I know.” Damn it. Tara didn’t want to insult Janna. She simply needed to convince Janna she wanted to work for the Council. “I’m sorry. I just…I like Faith. I’m worried about her.” More than Janna would ever know. Worried so much that anxiety thrummed constantly along Tara’s nerves. “And Buffy,” she added. “I worry about them both. You were right the other day. The Council needs to recruit witches and make them part of the Slayer teams. I want to be a part of your movement, Janna. I want to help you show the Council how much good a strong magical presence would be.”

Janna’s eyes widened.

Good. She was beginning to understand. Tara didn’t wait to see if she’d gotten the entire message. “I didn’t tell you everything when you asked about my background. Even though it’s been a while since I’ve done any big Magick,” Tara said, “my mother trained me from the time I was little. I don’t need to take classes.” She prayed to the Goddess she wasn’t overstating the truth. “I want you to schedule a Trial as soon as you can.”

“Now isn’t really good. I know you want to help.” Janna ran a hand through her hair. “Goddess, you’ve come full circle, and we need your help. Especially now. But with Willow and the new Watcher, I just…I can’t,” she said, tension evident in every line of her body.

Tara hadn’t anticipated this. She should have. Coming on the heels of Faith’s accident, everyone involved with the local Slayer House had to be on edge. Passing the Trial was the only way Tara knew to gain full entrance into the House and into Faith’s life, though. “What if I take the Trial somewhere else? There are actual Council Headquarters in Los Angeles and San Francisco. If you could give one of them a call, I’ll drive there and complete the Trial.”

“You’d go to all that trouble?” Janna sat down at an empty table and put her head in her hands.

“Hey!” Quickly joining Janna, Tara took her hands. “It’s no trouble.” It seemed that joining the Council wouldn’t only help Faith but perhaps everyone at Slayer House. Janna was falling apart. Despite the differences in their ages, Tara wanted to wrap Janna in a hug and reassure her that everything would be fine. She knew she couldn’t make that promise. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Still, the sooner she took the Trial, the sooner she had even a slight chance of making a difference.  “Come on. Make the call. Who knows? They might be able to schedule a Trial for me later today.” Better for Faith. Better for Janna. Better for Tara, too. The sooner she passed her Trial, the less likely she was to change her mind and run.


	18. Chapter 18

It was late afternoon when Tara pulled Trish’s car over and parked. Her skin buzzed - and this time, she couldn’t blame Faith. This time, Tara had only herself to blame. Wrapping her hands firmly around the steering wheel, she closed her eyes and repeated one phrase over and over, “Faith needs you to do this.”

Faith needed Tara to stop hiding her talents. Faith needed a strong, self-confident witch to be her backup. Faith needed a strong Dominant who could - and would - take on the Council and anyone else who wanted to hurt Faith. The key to surviving the next few hours was, simply, Faith’s needs. Slowly, Tara’s emotions stopped their Tasmanian devil impression. Her heart rate slowed. Warmth replaced the chill snaking through her veins. Tara had her focus. Faith. Unconsciously, Tara tilted her head and reached through the dormant bond. 

She didn’t get very far before the link grew too narrow. Still, there was a hint of emotion, just a tiny frisson of exhaustion and the drag of despair from the other end.

Tara’s resolve firmed. “I won’t let you down,” she vowed out loud. Pulling out of the link, she grabbed her backpack and climbed from the car. She marched resolutely up a cobblestone walkway, past a wild assortment of flowers and vines, to a cluttered porch. Janna hadn’t gone through the Los Angeles Council Headquarters. Instead, Tara knocked on the door of the LA Coven’s High Priestess.

The door opened quickly, revealing a short, rail-thin young woman with bright blue hair. “Hi, I’m Melody. Blessed be!” Her smile was so electric it could have powered all the lights on the block. “Come on in! I’m so excited to meet you!”

Dazed by the exuberant welcome, Tara murmured her own hellos and entered the house. Incense tickled Tara’s nose, and magic tingled along her spine. Whatever else Melody might be, she was clearly very powerful. Tara had a moment to scan the cluttered main room before her host led her up a flight of stairs to the second floor. “I was surprised when Janna called. We’ve been online friends for years, but I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

Years? Really? Melody couldn’t be more than twenty. “I didn’t give her much time to plan,” she said, in case Melody expected an answer.

“Oh, I don’t mind! Not at all!” Exclamation marks seemed to be a common feature in her speech. “It’s so rare to get a new witch wanting to join the Council. I’ve only done three Trials for them since becoming High Priestess of the Moon Glow Coven. We’re not big on fighting,” she added in a lower voice. “We prefer more peaceful methods.”

Before Faith’s accident last night, Tara would have been completely on board with Melody’s “do as you will and harm none” philosophy. Today, she wanted to scream at the other woman. That scared her. She had to be in control of her emotions; neither witches nor Dominants could afford to lose control.

There was too much to do. Too much to learn. There was just too much everything. Tara wavered as the enormity of what she faced threatened to overwhelm her.

“We don’t mind helping Janna out, though! She’s been very helpful with rituals and spells whenever we reach out. Have you met her submissive? A truly amazing young witch!” A single door sat at the end of a long hallway. Melody paused, hand on the knob. “Are you ready, Tara?”

Melodie’s chatter gave Tara a chance to regain her focus. She had to remember Faith. Still… “Ready” was such a subjective concept. “Yes,” Tara answered clearly. She was as ready as she - and Fate - would ever make her.   
  
The door opened, and Melody stepped inside. “Please join us.” Her voice suddenly resonated with authority, and Tara glimpsed the High Priestess beneath the bubbly veneer.   
  
Tara followed Melody into the room. Four witches waited for them. Each stood on one of four green tiles inset into the otherwise hardwood floor. Paint arched between the tiles to form a semi-permanent Circle. Tara closed her eyes for a second and centered. When she re-opened them, she saw the full Circle. A solid wall of shimmering power stretched between the witches; only one section was absent. A Gateway for Tara and Melody.   
  
The Circle closed behind them, and all sounds and sights from the outside world disappeared. Tara could no longer even see the witches holding the protective barrier steady. Only Melody remained. “Along every path, we face challenges. Along every road, there are obstacles. Today, you have chosen to face those challenges head on. To embrace your destiny. I welcome you, Tara, and I applaud your courage. I am hear as an observer; I will record and document your Trial. Do you have any questions?”  
  
“No.” Tara’s mother had prepared her for this day. “I am prepared to begin.” Dropping her personal shields fully, Tara tapped her magical reservoirs. For this Test, she would not be able to use any outside source of power. Today was a test of her strength as a witch.   
  
“Then let the Trial begin!” Melody stepped to the edge of the Circle and bowed her head.   
  
The air around Tara stirred; ephemeral shapes swirled on the unseen currents. Instinct saved Tara as one shape became a lightning bolt. It bounced harmlessly off the shield she hastily raised. Magical sparks sizzled. The attack opened the floodgates for the full fury of the Trial. Tara reeled as unseen voices shouted questions on herbal remedies, potions, and spell casting. Energy balls and ghostly images sought weaknesses in Tara’s defenses.  
  
She answered between volleys of raw energy. Each new threat drained her energies. She conserved where and when she could. That meant dodging or deflecting fireballs instead of destroying them. Time lost meaning. Minutes and hours merged and were measured not by a ticking clock but by each question answered, each spell cast. Tara pushed far beyond her imagined limits. She was covered in sweat and swaying in place when the barrage inexplicably stopped.   
  
Melody stepped into the suddenly still and silent Circle. “The Trial is complete.” She was pale and studiously avoided Tara’s eyes as she continued the ritual speech. “Let all who would question your knowledge and skill listen and be warned. In all matters arcane and mystical, Tara Maclay has earned the rank of Adept.” 

***

“Ah, there you are.” Wyndam-Pryce glanced at his watch. “Our appointment was for four thirty.”  
  
Faith managed _not_ to roll her eyes. She was two minutes late. Two fucking minutes. “Sorry,” she lied. If she’d known beforehand that he was going to be upset, she would have waited another few minutes to show up just to piss him off. “Couldn’t find my running shoes.”   
  
With an impatient sniff, he marked something on his clipboard. “Well, you are here now. We will get started. Part of your training, Ms. Lehane, is an unbiased evaluation of your current fitness and skill levels in armed and unarmed combat. To this end, you will now complete a timed run of the Obstacle Course.”  
  
“Why?” The Course was fun but it had nothing to do with fighting vampires or demons. It was a collection of wooden walls set around a path behind the House.   
  
If anything, Wyndam-Pryce’s expression grew more disapproving. “Young woman, it is not your place to question the Council’s decisions. You will run this course as many times as I direct, when I direct it.” Holding a stopwatch aloft, he clicked a button. “Begin.”  
  
Faith lost at least a couple of seconds from surprise. She was used to Giles or Buffy at least attempting to answer her questions and explaining the reason behind their requests. Her muscles protested the lack of a warm-up as she took off running. That was why she struggled to scale the first tall wall. Her knees banged painfully into the smooth wood, and her foot slipped off the top. Cursing, she gripped the top and swung her entire body to the left and up, just managing to hook her ankle on the second try. With a grunt of effort, Faith climbed over the wall and dropped to the ground.   
  
She finally found a rhythm after the next hurdle. Her pace picked up until she fairly flew over the dirt path. Water hazard? No problem. Row of tires on the ground? Faith danced through them. Even Watcher Wes had to be impressed with her skills. Pouring every last dreg of energy into a flat out sprint at the end, Faith zipped by Wyndam-Pryce. “How’d I do?”  
  
She wasn’t expecting his clipped, “We have more work ahead of us than I thought. Your time was barely adequate, and your technique over the obstacles was truly sub-standard.”   
  
No way. Faith snatched the stopwatch and clipboard from Wyndam-Pryce. Four minutes fifty-three seconds. That seemed just fine to her. Then she took a look at the page attached to the clipboard. A chart covered the sheet. The left column held a list of different activities, the first being “Obstacle Course.” The second column was the “Passing Mark.”   
  
Three and a half minutes.   
  
Passing was three and a half minutes.   
  
Faith numbly handed the clipboard and stopwatch back. “I’m all warmed up now. Want me to do it for real?” Even she could hear the lie.   
  
“Had you been faced with a vampire attack, when would you have had the opportunity to ‘warm up’?” Wyndam-Pryce didn’t give Faith any wiggle room. “You would simply be dead because you lack basic skills and any modicum of work ethic. Your Watcher Diary is filled with comments on missed training sessions and your obvious disdain for learning new techniques.”  
  
For once, Faith had no snappy comeback. He was right. Diana had bitched about her attendance at training sessions. Giles had been less vocal; he’s simply sighed and given her Sad Eyes when he’d finally tracked her down. “I’m not big on school,” she finally mumbled. Not even the lure of sparring helped build Faith’s enthusiasm. “Besides, hitting Giles in one of them puffy suits ain’t the same as fighting a vamp.”  
  
Wyndam-Pryce considered that, head tilted to one side. “I’m afraid it is not. Even the most fit and well-trained Watcher cannot mimic the speed and strength of a vampire. However, the point of the sessions is not to duplicate a demon attack. The sessions are there to give you more choices, more effective tools in such a fight. And muscle memory is built only through repetition.” He peered at her closely. “Boring repetition.”  
  
The message was clear. Faith nodded her reluctant understanding.   
  
“Excellent.” With an almost-smile, Wyndham-Pryce turned back to the course. “Perhaps, now that you are warmed up, you might show me your true skill at the Obstacle Course? We do need to set a baseline for your time; a starting point for all further tests.”   
  
“Ready,” Faith announced grimly, getting into position. This time, she’d smoke not only her first time but the Passing Mark, too. Three and a half minutes. Even Giles could run that fast. She was off like a shot when the stopwatch started again. Up and over. Jump the water. Belly crawl under the netting. Puffs of dust and flying leaves marked Faith’s progress around the course. Her muscles strained and her lungs burned. She’d never put so much effort into anything in her life.   
  
Panting, Faith completed the course and slid to a halt. “Time?” she managed to gasp between gulps of air.   
  
“Three minutes and twenty-two seconds.” Wyndam-Pryce wrote the time on his form. “An improvement. However, I am sure you are aware that it is not an acceptable time for an experienced Slayer. You will have to do better, I am afraid.”   
  
Suddenly suffocating, Faith placed both hands on her head, closed her eyes, and fought for breath.   
  
_“You think you’re better than me?” Swaying drunkenly, Faith’s mother sneered. “Little bitch. You’re nothing, and you’ll never be more than nothing.”_  
  
Tears stung Faith’s eyes but she blinked them back. She’d never give her mother the satisfaction of knowing how much her words hurt. “One day, I’m getting out of here. I’m not like you. I ain’t gonna be a whore, and drink all my money away.” She stood up and ducked a second too late to avoid the open-hand slap that stung her cheek.   
  
“You’re not going anywhere. Not unless I tell you to.”  
  
“Well, we will work on your time - and your stamina.” Tucking the stopwatch into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, Wyndam-Pryce announced, “Perhaps you will do better with weapons. Mr. Giles has been effusive in his complements regarding your fighting abilities. Shall we adjourn to the gymnasium, Ms. Lehane?”  
  
Dread settled in the pit of Faith’s stomach as she followed him inside. She enjoyed fighting, and she’d managed to stay alive since being Called. After sparring with Buffy and coming up on the losing end of their sessions every time, Faith knew she wasn’t as good as she should be. Maybe she’d get a pass on the weapons test, though. She and Buffy had Hulk-smashed the gym.

Unfortunately, Giles or his new pal Wes had gotten around to replacing all the equipment. Wondeful. To make matters worse, the weapon of choice was a staff. Faith would be lucky not to knock herself out. The smooth wood slid through her hands thanks to the nervous sweat slicking her palms. Even though Wyndam-Pryce started out slow and used the most basic jabs and thrusts, Faith missed blocks. When she did manage to deflect his blow, she overextended. Her ribs paid the price. After the longest sparring session of her life, Faith staggered to across the gym and racked her staff. Breathing her, and her fair was probably bruised. Biting back a moan, Faith dragged a towel over her face and arms to wipe away the sweat.  
  
“Right then. Please complete one hundred pushups.”   
  
He was crazy. Faith was too afraid of what he might ask her to do next, though, to say that out loud. She tossed the towel aside and stretched out on the floor. This was a nightmare of epic proportions. By thirty, she knew she’d never make it to fifty. Her arms shook. Twice, Faith was stuck halfway between an “up” position and “down.”   
  
_“Did you know that most Slayers have years of training before they are Called to duty?” Pacing back and forth across the front of the deserted classroom, Diana pointed to the pile of books stacked on Faith’s desk. “Slayer history, military strategy, Council and human law. How on Earth do you expect to catch up if you continually shirk your studies?”_  
  
Who the Hell cared about the shit in books? Slaying was about action, and Faith excelled at that.   
  
Unfortunately, Diana wasn’t on board with Faith’s rebellious thoughts. She spun and stalked toward Faith. “You are an embarrassment. To me, to yourself, to this facility. Members of the governing Council write or call daily to question your suitability for your position.” There was a moment of silence when Faith wondered if she should say something. “When you first arrived, we understood you faced challenges. In the past half century, there has been only one other Slayer who eluded the identification spells. Unlike you, that other Slayer is fast becoming a legend. You would do well to emulate her, Faith. Buffy Summers is everything a Slayer should be. Everything **you** would be if only you applied yourself.”

When Faith’s arms stopped working at pushup forty-three, she crawled to her feet and walked from the room without explanation. Watcher Wes would figure it out. She was a failure. 


	19. Chapter 19

Tara wanted desperately to go home. Melodie’s guest room had a very comfortable bed, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. An Adept. Melody must have gotten it wrong. Not even one in four thousand witches was that powerful. Tara’s mother certainly hadn’t been that strong.

Had she?

Sunlight lit the blinds as Tara stared at the ceiling. She had so rarely seen her mother practice magic. An occasional glamour of a cartoon character to make Tara laugh. Warding. Healing a cut finger or scraped knee.

_“You don’t have to move mountains.” With a teasing smile, Tara’s mother touched Tara’s nose with a single finger. “Not even a little hill,” she added, playing on the Irish meaning of Tara’s name. “Real power knows its strength and tempers it.”_

Every lesson she’d taught Tara had been about control. About understanding the foundation of magic and using it sparingly. Tara closed her eyes, blocking out the brightening day. Dear Goddess. How could she have missed all the signs? The spells her mother _had_ cast… They’d appeared effortless. And all of her knowledge. Tears burned a path down Tara’s face. “Oh, Mama. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t understand.” Sorry she’d believed her mother to be somehow less because she didn’t actively use her magic.

Unwittingly, Tara had done the same thing. She’s mimicked her mother because of her teachings. She’d used magic only to worship the Goddess.

What did it mean? Blinking away the tears, Tara sat up. First of all, now that she’d passed the Trial, it was time to stop hiding. She’d head back to Sunnydale immediately and talk to Janna about a job at the House. If her father was dumb enough to track her down, he find a big surprise waiting. Tara channeled Faith for a moment. She’d send him packing before he knew what hit him. Maybe by that time, her bond with Faith would be complete and Faith could help.

Feeling better about her prospects and the day ahead, Tara hummed as she climbed out of bed.

*** 

She was still humming later that morning as she walked up the sidewalk toward the Slayer House. Mid-refrain, Tara stopped. Something had changed. Her skin tingled; power rippled in invisible waves around the property. Not the usual warding. This was major Magick. Approaching with more caution, she brushed the leading edge of the shields.

Huh. That was odd. Someone had grafted a second layer of magic onto the original ward. And the new spell wasn’t there to keep vampires or demons away from the House. It was set to keep someone _in._ Tara didn’t want to trigger any kind of response by probing too deeply. Withdrawing her mind, she hurried up the front walk and into the House without knocking. Janna was expecting her.

“Good morning.” Janna must have been peering through the curtains. She grabbed Tara in a bear hug and danced them around the foyer. “Melody called last night. Congratulations!”

"Thanks.” Embarrassed by the effusive celebration, Tara gently pulled away. “It was a surprise. A good surprise,” she added so Janna didn’t think she regretted taking the Trial. “Thanks again for arranging it for me.”

Janna rolled her eyes. “Yes, because making a phone call took so much effort.” She looked like Willow when she grinned widely. “My poor finger still hurts, and I may have pulled a muscle lifting the phone off the cradle.” With a light shove, Janna announced, “You, missy, are a fake. A complete and absolute fake. You were hiding your abilities.”

Oops. Tara didn’t want to go down that path with Janna. “Maybe a little,” she allowed. “Not anymore.” Time to redirect the conversation. “I’m here and ready to sign on the dotted line. As you pointed out, witches tend to find their way to the Council. There’ll be one more backing your idea of House Covens.”

“As much as I want the support… You’re an Adept, Tara. Once you finish the paperwork, you could ask the Council to send you anywhere. Devon and Châtillon-sur-Seine have large, traditional Covens. They do most of the Council’s research and you could easily move through the ranks there.”

“That’s the _last_ thing I want,” Tara said. She had made (or was making) her peace with coming out of the closet with her magic. Nothing, unless Faith suddenly needed a Dominant with clout, would convince her to wade into the cesspool of Coven politics. “I’m happy teaching people the foundations of magic and Wicca and helping with research.”

Janna gave her a searching look. Tara schooled her expression and strengthened her personal shields. That made Janna’s eyes narrow; she must have been watching Tara’s aura and noticed the flare. “It’s your decision, Tara.”

“And I choose to stay here.” With her bondmate. “Let’s make it official,” Tara announced.

***

Sore from head to toe, Faith crept into the Library and sank into one of the ornate wing chairs. She normally thought they were terribly uncomfortable. She was so wrong. The chair was the most comfortable chair ever made.

Too bad she wouldn’t get to enjoy the way it cradled her aching body.

Stifling a moan, Faith leaned forward and picked up the book on the nearby end table. It weighed a ton and smelled moldy. Watcher Wes had given her a reading assignment after her four thousandth trip around the Obstacle Course – the last time with weights strapped to ankles and wrists. She was so tired her fingers trembled as she turned to the chapter on Historical Roles of Slayers in Society. Seventy pages of mind numbing boredom due before lunch.

“Did you take any pain killer before sitting down?”

Faith screamed, there was no other word for the girlish sound, and attempted to jump from the chair. Unfortunately, her muscles had stiffened too much and she only lurched forward. The book dropped to the floor.

With an apologetic grimace, Tara picked it up and set it back on Faith’s lap. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw me when you came in. You walked right by me.” She pointed to a bench seat against the wall by the door. “Are you hurt? I noticed you limping…”

“I’m fine,” Faith muttered. She didn’t need anyone hovering over her.

Her comment apparently didn’t reassure Tara, who frowned and peered at Faith intently. “You’re not fine, Faith.”

What the Hell? Faith glared back. She didn’t need Tara telling her how she felt. Even if she was right.

Before she could lash out, Tara moved away. Walking around Faith’s chair, she very slowly and very gently put her hands on Faith’s shoulders. “My mother was a healer,” Tara announced as if Faith cared. “I wish I had her skill then I could take away your pain.”

Faith hated to be touched unless she initiated it. But…There was something in Tara’s voice. Some pain of her own that kept Faith from pulling away. “Ain’t a big deal. New Watcher’s got some killer workout plan, and I’m kinda out of shape.” More like a complete loss.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Faith.” Tara’s voice was always quiet. “Unless you were Called yesterday, you’re good enough to stay alive. I think you’re in amazing shape, and, if you’re still willing, I’d love for you to teach me some self-defense.” As she spoke, she began to massage the muscles in Faith’s neck and shoulders.

If it wouldn’t have ruined her reputation, Faith might have dropped her head forward and groaned in pleasure. Tara’s fingers were magic. They found every tight spot and worked the knots out.

“Will you teach me, Faith?” Tara asked again. “Janna conned me into joining her team; I’ll be working with you and Buffy. Knowing how to defend myself will come in handy.”

All of Faith’s new-found relaxation disappeared. “She did what?” Thanks to Tara’s magic touch, Faith managed to stand up and turn around in one, almost smooth move. “Why the fuck would you join the Council? Are you out of your mind?”

Tara’s half-smile seemed more like a smirk. “If I’m crazy, what does that make you? You’re a member of the Council, too.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Faith spat.

That turned Tara’s smile into a thoughtful frown.  “I never thought of that.” She gestured for Faith to sit back down. “If you had it to do over, and you _could_ choose, would you?” Her touch was a little firmer as she resumed the massage. Her fingers dug into the knots, pain followed by the cool wash of relief as the muscles loosened.

Hesitating, Faith considered the question. Her life in Boston had sucked. By the time she’d been Called, she’d lived on the streets for over a year.

“You don’t have to answer, sweetie. Sometimes I think too much, and it isn’t like either one of us can really go back and change our pasts, right?” Faith thought Tara regretted the truth of her own statement.

What had Tara done that she wanted to change? Was there a wild woman under the quiet exterior? Faith nearly laughed out loud at that mental image. Tara was so far from “wild.”

“What’s so funny?” Tara leaned over the back of the chair and gave Faith the standard Dominant raised eyebrow. “Did I hit a ticklish spot?”

“Nah. Just thought of somethin’. It’s not important.” Faith knew without asking that Tara wouldn’t enjoy being laughed at. “You know, you don’t have to keep working on my shoulders. I think my knots is stronger than your hands.” She’d noticed Tara shaking them as she’d pretended to glare at Faith. “I’m feeling better anyway. You got the touch. Thanks.”

Appearing disappointed, Tara straightened and took a seat in a nearby chair. “I wish I could have done more.”

“Told you I felt better,” Faith pointed out again. Then she sighed. “Wouldn’t matter if you had Hands of Steel. The new Council guy gave me a reading assignment. I ain’t got time for you to keep goin’.” She pointed to the book in her lap. “I’m supposed read a chapter by lunch. Think he’s got a test, too.” One more thing for her to fail. Slumping a little, she reopened the book and located the chapter. “Watcher Wes says I need to learn how real Slayers are supposed to act.”

“Watcher Wes sounds like an idiot,” Tara mumbled.

It was so unexpected that Faith wasn’t sure she’d heard Tara correctly. “Come again?”

Tara’s eyes were a glacial blue. “’How a real Slayer’ acts? You _are_ a real Slayer, Faith. He should know that. Stupid man.”

Faith chuckled. “Calm down, Lady Tara.” She enjoyed the fiery blush that covered Tara’s cheeks at her nickname. Tara was cute when she was riled up. “I know I ain’t faking the Slayer gig. I just got to prove it to the new guy.” Which meant reading the chapter in the next twenty minutes, according to the clock on the wall. Fucking awesome. There was no way she’d have time to finish.

“Did you know Slayers were created by a group called the Shadow Men?” Tara hadn’t seemed like a big talker when the two other times they’d met. Faith deliberately – and loudly – turned the page of her book in the hopes Tara would let her read. “They wanted a line of mystical warriors to fight the forces of Evil. They called those warriors ‘Slayers’.”

Keeping her eyes on the page, Faith didn’t respond. She needed to at least attempt the assignment or Wyndam-Pryce would flip.

_In antiquity, a trio of men known as the Shadow Men, precursors to the modern Watchers, created the First Slayer. This powerful and mystical warrior was imbued with the essence of a demon._

Wait. “What did you say?” Faith glanced up to find Tara watching her. “Shadow Men?”

“Yes.” Tara smiled as if Faith was a genius for remembering that tiny detail.

“So these guys built a Slayer out of a demon and a girl.” Faith did a little mixing of facts, testing the waters.

Tara’s smile grew wider. “Exactly. Very good, Faith.”

Faith straightened in her chair. “Don’t call me Einstein yet,” she said despite the burst of pleasure at Tara’s praise. “We just covered the first paragraph of the chapter.”

“Oh, I’ve got more.” Leaning forward, Tara began talking. “Slayers weren’t like you and Buffy originally. There was only one at a time, and most people didn’t even know they existed. That’s where the modern Council started. Watchers were guides and teachers. Slayers were secret warriors. Sometime in the twelfth century, a Slayer was injured so badly that her heart stopped. Just for a second. And another Slayer was called. When the original Slayer woke up…”

“The Chosen Two.” Even Faith knew that part of the story. She closed the book. Tara was way more interesting. “So, I get that Slayers kill demons and vampires. What else? I think that’s where Watcher Wes thinks I suck.”

Tara really didn’t like that. “Don’t say that.”

“Wasn’t me.” Faith held up her hands in surrender. Tara might be all sweet and nice on the surface but there was definitely a Dominant buried underneath. Faith didn’t have time to tangle with Lady Tara. Although, it might be fun another day.

“Don’t even repeat it,” Tara said seriously. “You don’t suck at being a Slayer or anything else.” Then, seeming to gather her composure, she went back to the lesson. “Once the single Slayer ‘rule’ was broken, more and more Slayers began to activate. The number of demons grew in response. The forces of Good can’t outweigh the forces of Evil. There has to be a balance. That’s when the Slayer role expanded. With so much Evil running around, the Council couldn’t keep Slayers a secret anymore. Slayers partnered with local militia and private armies. A few who were experts in strategy became advisors to kings and political leaders around the world.”

Completely caught up in Tara’s story, Faith jumped (but thankfully didn’t scream) when the door opened behind her. “Ah, Faith. There you are. I hope you have completed your reading. There are some questions I’d like to ask regarding the information.” The prick didn’t even glance at Tara.

Apparently, he should have. Faith goggled as Tara stood and walked toward Wyndam-Pryce. “Hello. You must be the new Watcher. I’m Tara Maclay, one of the House witches.” She thrust her hand out, and Faith wanted to laugh when he automatically shook it.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” he said. “You’re a witch. How wonderful.” Wyndam-Pryce was the world’s worst liar. “Forgive me. Faith and I have a previous engagement.”

“Oh, she told me.” Tara didn’t move. She stood firmly between Wyndam-Pryce and Faith.

Sensing trouble, Faith stayed where she was. Slayer or not, she wasn’t getting between two Dominants in some weird pissing contest. It was more than a little surprising. Tara had never struck Faith as someone who needed to flash her cuff and posture.

But Tara sure as Hell was. “You’re here to test her on Slayer duties,” she continued smoothly. There was a hint of tension – or anger – in her tone. “I think you should test me instead. When I found out Faith was studying the same material I was planning to read, I asked her to teach _me_ the information. If you test me, and I pass, you know she understands the assignment.”

Faith had to fight the urge to stare at Tara in shock. It would totally blow Tara’s lie. A lie Faith didn’t understand. Why was Tara covering for her? Tara hadn’t been reading the book on Slayer History. Faith had no idea why Tara had been in the Library. All she knew was that Tara had taught Faith more in three minutes than Diana had managed in three months.

It was a good thing Faith kept her poker face in place. Wyndam-Pryce glanced at her suspiciously. She met his eyes and shrugged. “Dominant witch.” Brandishing her own submissive marker, Faith muttered, “Wasn’t going to say no.”

Wyndam-Pryce huffed, and Tara seemed to grow impossibly taller as she blocked his path.

“Are you suggesting Faith defy a simple request from a Dominant?” Tara’s voice hit glacial and dropped to sub-zero. “Or are you implying that I am lying?” Each word was clipped and distinct. She was seriously unhappy with Watcher Wes.

He saw that, too, and backed off. “Oh, ah, of course not, Ms. Maclay,” Wyndam-Pryce stammered. “It’s just…Faith…”

“Faith is an excellent teacher, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Since my education was non-traditional, I’m afraid my knowledge of basic Slayer lore isn’t what it should be.” Tara continued to lie smoothly. Faith wanted to know why; not to mention, how she’d gotten so good at bending the truth. From what she’d seen, Tara was an expert at Slayer history. “If you assign Faith similar reading or tasks in the future, I’d very much appreciate you allowing her to tutor me in the material. It would help me learn faster.”

Now Faith understood. Tara was _helping_ her. And that help deserved a little assistance. “Kinda does me some good, too,” Faith told Wyndam-Pryce. “Helps me remember the information better when I gotta explain it to, T.”

“You mean Ms. Maclay.” At least Wyndam-Pryce had bought the story.   
  
Faith let his snippy, sideways reminder to be polite float right on by. “You bet. So...we good for lunch?” She really hoped he quizzed Tara while they ate. He was such a tool.


	20. Chapter 20

Staring blindly at the television, Tara replayed her afternoon at the Slayer House. She’d spent hours with Faith, letting her sub “teach” her all about Slayer History. Faith was very smart. Tara had only needed to explain information or events once, and Faith understood. She’d also asked a million questions.

Why, then, did everyone in the House assume Faith wasn’t good enough to be a Slayer? It didn’t make sense. And it frustrated Tara. Every time she’d praised Faith’s answers or indicated any approval of her effort, Faith had appeared confused. Or downright disbelieving. Tara also hated the way Faith’s new Watcher treated her. The man was an uptight idiot. During their lunch, he’d lectured Faith relentlessly on “comportment.”  
  
 _“It is imperative that you begin to look and act like an exemplary member of the Council, Faith. With your troubled history, you’ll have to put in extra effort to gain the Council’s trust and support. The first step we will undertake is your comportment. That means always sitting erect and on the edge of your chair.” Modeling the pose, he scooted ludicrously close to the edge of his chair and thrust his thin chest out. “You should never slouch.”_  
  
 _Of course, both Faith and Tara were leaning all the way back in their chairs. Tara was afraid to glance in Faith’s direction. As a Dominant, she knew she couldn’t undermine Wyndam-Pryce’s authority by rolling her eyes the way she wanted. As **Faith’s** Dominant, it was hard to keep from telling Wyndham-Pryce to shut up and go away._  
  
 _“Furthermore, I believe it shows poor manners to be casually dressed at the table. In the future, please present yourself appropriately attired for all meals. If we are attending a Council function, I will select your clothing for you.”_

Poor Faith. No wonder she didn’t believe in herself. No one else seemed to. If the bond was complete, Tara would be able to demand Wyndam-Pryce be replaced. Faith would feel Tara’s approval and support through their bond.

Maybe…Maybe she could already. Tara reached for Faith - and hit the same wall that had stopped her for the last week. Damn it!  
  
“Do you want me to change the channel?” Maxie asked, interrupting Tara’s increasingly violent thoughts. “I mean, I didn’t think reruns of The Cosby Show were so upsetting.”  
  
“What?” Tara blinked and glanced at Maxie in confusion. “What did you say?”   
  
The television shut off, leaving the room quiet. “Who are you going to kill? Do you need Trish to find you a lawyer? I’ve never seen you so mad. I thought that test-thing you took went well. Did Trish get it wrong?” Maxie asked.  
  
“I don’t think I need a lawyer.” Tara laughed without real humor. Not yet. If she had to watch the way Wyndam-Pryce treated Faith for too much longer that could change. “A shrink might work. I need to have my head examined by a professional. I have no idea what I’m doing, Maxie. Apparently, I could magically level all of Sunnydale. Fantastic. But I still don’t have a working bond with Faith. I need the bond, Max. I think _she_ needs the bond. You should see the way the Council treats her. It’s horrible!”  
  
Setting the remote on an end table, Maxie stood and walked over to Tara. “I don’t understand you. The Council’s abusing Faith. You think Faith needs you. Stop whining about it and do something, Tar. Or are you too afraid?”

“What?” Maxie’s comment was so unexpected, Tara didn’t know how to respond.

And that was all the encouragement Maxie needed to continue. “You’re supposed to be a Dominant. Act like one. If I was Faith, and Trish was you, it wouldn’t matter that I couldn’t feel the bond. Trish would go storming into the House and make me come with her.”

Tara hadn’t even thought of that. “I did what I could.” Had she? Sure, she’d helped Faith study for her test, and Wyndham-Pryce probably thought she was a crazy bitch. Goddess, Maxie was right.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You didn’t even think about doing anything. You’re too nice to be a Dominant, Tar. At least, a Dominant for a Slayer. Your Mom _did_ teach you Slayer 101. They need someone who can stand up to them.” Her tone softened, and she knelt at Tara’s feet. “Maybe you should let Faith go.”

“Excuse me?”  Maxie had gone too far this time. All her uncertainty disappeared, and Tara was suddenly furious.

“You heard me.” Maxie straightened and glared openly. “Come on, Tara. Do you really think you can tell a Slayer what to do?”

It was clear _Maxie_ didn’t think Tara could manage it. “I don’t need to prove anything to you, Maxine.” Leaning forward into Maxie’s personal space, she said very softly, “You will _never_ speak to me in that tone again.”

“Why not?” Sounding like a little kid on a playground, Maxie dared Tara. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Would your Mistress be happy with your tone, Maxine?” Tara saw Maxie’s head dip in response to her question. No matter how relaxed their dynamic, Maxie was still completely submissive to Trish. Maxie would _never_ want to disappoint or embarrass Trish. Satisfaction filled Tara. She’d made her point.

At least, she thought she had until Maxie’s shoulders stiffened and her chin came up defiantly.

“Jeez, Tara. That’s the best you have? You’re going to tell on me?” Shaking her head, Maxie continued. “There’s no way you could control a Slayer. Especially one like Faith. Have you ever thought maybe the bond is a mistake? That there’s only one side to it because somehow Faith knows you aren’t right for her?”

Tara was frozen in the chair. Her chest ached; Maxie’s words stabbed at her.

“I’ve met a lot of Dominants. Trish is always dragging me to meet her friends. They are incredibly arrogant and sure they could rule the world. I bet Faith needs someone like that. Someone strong.” Sitting back on her heels, Maxie watched Tara with a mocking expression. “My God, Tara, how would you ever get Faith to obey you?”

If Maxie wanted to see how good a Dominant she was, Tara would be more than happy to give a demonstration. Her entire body trembled with anger and hurt. She jumped from the chair and loomed over Maxie. “I have had enough of you,” she snapped. “Enough!” One hand reached out and gripped Maxie’s collar, dragging her head up.

That’s when she glimpsed Maxie’s wide eyes and pale face, and Trish’s voice from her first Dominance lesson echoed in her memory. _“What would happen if I got mad and lashed out the way you did? What would it do to her?”_

Tara froze and sucked in a slow, calming breath. She had to stop. She had to think. Slipping around Maxie, Tara examined her closely. Something about her posture was wrong. Maxie wasn’t angry or mocking. She was no longer daring Tara to prove her worth as a Dominant.

Maxie was afraid. Why? She’d spent the last several minutes shredding Tara’s ability as a Dominant. It didn’t make any sense. And Tara needed it to make sense before she could effectively respond to Maxie’s actions.

It was time to do a little digging. “So you’re an expert on Dominants now, Maxine?” Tara used the same cold, clipped tone she’d employed on Wyndam-Pryce. “Or is it only me you know so very well?”  
  
The tone worked far better on Maxie.  Despite her doubts, Maxie couldn’t suppress a shiver. And Tara was close enough to see her skin goose pimple. “No. No, I didn’t...I mean, I’m not an expert,” Maxie answered, stumbling over the words.  
  
Tara absorbed the response without comment. This was more the Maxie she knew. Now Tara was more concerned with Maxie’s body language. Hands clenched. Shoulders moving from hunched to painfully straight. In the past few seconds, Maxie had licked her lips and shifted her weight a dozen times. A sub who sensed they’d crossed a line with no way of getting back to safety. “What would happen if you provided similar insight about to a Dominant like Monica?”  
  
If Maxie had been pale before, she was now completely devoid of color. “I’d be punished.” The words were a tangled mess and so soft Tara barely heard her.  
  
Clearly, Maxie didn’t want to be punished. Why had she been so deliberately rude then? Had she truly believe Tara wouldn’t respond as a Dominant? “What would Monica do, Maxine?” Tara asked. “Tell me what would happen if you had told Monica she wasn’t ready to bond with Drew?”

“She’d be so mad, Ma’am. God. She’d be mad and she’d make me call Trish.” A fate worse than death, if the tears streaming down Maxie’s face were any indication. “She’d make me call Trish and tell her what I said.”

Tara’s hands gripped the hem of her shirt to prevent her reaching out to comfort Maxie. Maxie hadn’t earned a cuddle or a shoulder to cry on. “Trish wouldn’t be happy with your behavior, would she?” Her friends were a very informal couple. In the time Tara had known them, she’d seen Trish truly Dominate Maxie only a handful of times.

Every time, Maxie’s sharp tongue and over-the-top comments had been the trigger.

“No,” Maxie whispered pitifully.

That wasn’t good enough. Tara pulled herself to her full height and glared down at Maxie.

The heat from her glare must have heated Maxie’s hair or she sensed Tara’s continuing unhappiness. Maxie’s chin dropped all the way to her chest. “No, Ma’am. Trish wouldn’t be happy with my behavior.”

“You don’t like to disappoint your Mistress.” Tara was back to that point. If Maxie didn’t enjoy the consequences of her rude comment, why make them? “And yet you were deliberately rude. Why?” It was time for a more direct approach.

Maxie didn’t answer. She huddled on the floor, a silent picture of submissive misery.

“Answer the question, Maxine!” Despite a tight leash on her emotions, Tara’s frustration leaked into the snapped command.

Voice shaking, Maxie responded instantly. “I called in a favor. A friend from high school who works for the Council in Charleston.”

Tara’s mind latched onto the seemingly unrelated information and knitted it with Maxie’s past. Maxie who had admitted to attending a Council ball in her old hometown of Charleston and who had probably scored their invitations to the ball in Sunnydale.

“John’s bondmate does Potential Identification. I asked him to get information on Faith.” Maxie turned her head just enough to look quickly back at Tara. “I wanted you to know, to have something to go on. That’s all! But…”

“But what?” Tara wanted to back away and run. All her instincts said she didn’t want to hear what Maxie’s friend had found. Instead, she stood her ground and kept the pressure on Maxie.

“Faith’s trouble, Tara. John said the Council’s been trying to get rid of her, to deactivate her, for months.” Some of Maxie’s courage returned. “You’re too good for her, Tara. Too good and too nice.  You’d never be able to control her, and she’d make you miserable.”

***

The walls closed around Faith. Despite the tranquil sunset view through the window, she quivered with a thwarted need to run.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Watcher Wes asked sharply. He was always like that. Hard. Abrupt. Disapproving. Nothing Faith did was ever good enough.

He sounded like everyone in Faith’s life. Mother, Watchers, Buffy, Janna… The list was endless, just Wes’ the lecture. “Yeah, I heard ya’.” Faith didn’t turn around, though. Watching the sunset was the only thing keeping her from screaming. “The Council didn’t like the report you sent about my test scores.” She hadn’t passed a single test except the one on Slayer History. The one Tara had helped her study for.

“Precisely.” No rousing motivational speeches from Wyndam-Pryce. His voice full of censure, he continued. “What I am unable to understand, Ms. Lehane, is how you reached your current level of ineptitude.”

“No secret, Wes.” The gloves were off. Faith was done trying to impress Wyndam-Pryce or anyone else. It was a lost cause. “I worked real hard to hit my ‘current level’.” Letting the sun finish its downward trip, Faith spun and smiled mockingly. “You think you can get me to do any better? ‘Cause Diana was just like you when she started, convinced she had what it took to make me good enough to be a Slayer.”

Placing his hands on Giles’ desk, Wes leaned forward and met Faith’s eyes. She shivered. Was that a hint of satisfaction in his expression? “Are you issuing a challenge, Ms. Lehane? It would be patently unwise to do so. You have no hope of winning any such battle.”

For a Watcher, Wes was a moron. In _any_ battle, Faith would win. Slayer versus human. She’d pick him apart before he could scream for help.

Fuck, maybe he _was_ right. Faith had no viable escape route with the warding spell set around the House. Faith could leave but Buffy would be a step behind her. Frustration boiled up, and Faith caged the emotion. At least, she hoped she did because Wes watched her closely.

“Beginning tomorrow, you will no longer attend Sunnydale’s secondary school.” It was the first time Wes had said anything that excited Faith. Excitement lasted for less than a heartbeat. “I will take over your education. The Council has provided a very strict and regimented curriculum designed to fill in the deplorable gaps in your knowledge and skills.”

Faith swore the walls slid toward her several feet at the announcement. She was a prisoner of the Council. “No.”

There was no mistake this time. Faith’s defiance pleased Wes. Reaching under the desk, he pushed on something before straightening and fussing with his tie. “I see. That kind of attitude is exactly why the Council feels you are so ill-suited to your role.”

The door opened suddenly and Buffy strode in. “You needed me, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?” she asked with saccharine-sweet politeness.

“Yes. Ms. Summers, I’m afraid Ms. Lehane does not wish to take part in the new tutoring program. If you will remember, there were conditions to her continued stay in Sunnydale. I will have to request the Retrieval Team prepare Ms. Lehane for a trip to Scotland if this cannot be resolved.”

Faith was a master button pusher. In the last few months, she’d mashed every one of Buffy’s – some of them more than once. She knew what to say to make Buffy blush or giggle. What made her mad. She’d _never_ seen Buffy like this.

Buffy stood stock still, and her face appeared carved from stone. “Consider it resolved.”

“This isn’t simply a matter of you…convincing Ms. Lehane to attend our first session tomorrow. She openly defied a direct order from a Council representative.” All of Wes’ attention remained on Buffy.

What the hell was going on, Faith wondered. Wes wasn’t interested in her anymore. He wanted something from Buffy.

“I remember our agreement,” Buffy said tonelessly. “Let me talk to Faith and then I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“It is not that simple. You do realize I will have to notify Mr. Giles and the other…”

“I said I remember.” Buffy cut him off, and Faith noticed Wes take an involuntary step away at Buffy’s angry growl. “I made the agreement. I’ll stick with it. Do whatever you have to do. I just need a minute to talk to Faith.”

Wes nodded tightly and strode from the room.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Faith asked as soon as the door closed behind him.

“What do you think, Faith?” All of Buffy’s anger was gone. She paced slowly to the window and did what Faith had done earlier: stare out at the now-dark sky. “You said it yourself. The Council wants to deactivate you.”

The usual panic didn’t infuse Faith. She’d heard it too often, had known almost from the beginning that the Council would inevitably win. “Maybe you should let ‘em. I’m trouble, B. Always have been, just ask my ma,” she said numbly.

“No!” Buffy turned and pointed at Faith. “You are a Slayer, Faith. A good Slayer. I don’t care what that stuffed shirt says. You’re a good Slayer.”

Warmth swirled in Faith’s chest. “Really?”

"I’ve been telling you that since you got here, you idiot.” A smile lightened the strain on Buffy’s face. “But you never believe me.” The smile faded. “You have to do what Wyndam-Pryce tells you, Faith. He’s got a lot of high-powered friends on the Council. Giles and I…”

Faith waited, the pleasure from Buffy’s praise draining away.

“We’re doing everything we can to help you.” Meeting Faith’s eyes, Buffy said again, “You have to do what he tells you. I can’t hold him off forever. The next time you screw up, or the time after that… He’ll call up his buddies and you’ll be gone.”


	21. Chapter 21

“So you’re not only an expert on Dominants, but now you know more than Fate.” Tara wasn’t really paying attention to their conversation any longer. The sheer magnitude of Maxie’s interference took her breath away. As did the specter of a loveless, miserable bond. A bond like her parents’.

“I know that the Council has a file on Faith already. She’s been in trouble since the day she was Called. Her first Watcher died while she watched. The report John found said she didn’t even try to help, Tara. She just stood there.” Maxie recovered her confidence and broke position completely and stood up.  “Walk away while you can. You’re too good for her,” she repeated. “Repudiate the bond. Please, Tara.”

Tara couldn’t grasp what Maxie was telling her. Faith had let her Watcher die? That didn’t sound at all like Faith. The report was wrong. It had to be. Another example of the Council writing Faith as the villain.

And Tara wasn’t repudiating Faith. No matter her own lingering doubts about the bond, Tara wouldn’t turn her back on Faith. Repudiating Faith meant officially registering the partial bond with City Hall. Registering and then refusing. On paper. Tara remembered Faith’s expression during their tutoring session and Wyndam-Pryce’s lecture at lunch. She’d been crushed and trying desperately to hide it. All of her bravado and boasting were meant to cover how much Faith _expected_ to fail.

Tara wasn’t going to become yet another failure in Faith’s life. Especially not because of a report more than likely written by a Wyndam-Pryce clone.

Decision made, Tara’s mind settled and she regained her focus of the moment: Maxie. “Did John send you his information, Maxine? Or was this only over the phone?”

“John wouldn’t risk taking the file out of the Council building.” Maxie tried to get Tara to meet her eyes. She flinched and immediately dropped her chin when she succeeded – and saw Tara’s expression.

“You’re very lucky you left no paper trail,” Tara said softly. If she spoke any louder, her anger would slip out of her control. Tara had no intention of ever yelling. Her father had yelled. He’d always been angry. “You’ve gone too far this time. This is bigger than being pushy or impolite. You assumed to know more about what I or Faith needed than we do. You tried to influence my decision. You went behind my back to get information about _my bondmate._ And you deliberately challenged my authority.” Taking a step toward Maxie, Tara loomed over her.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Channeling all her hurt at Maxie’s meddling into her next statements, Tara said, “You’re going to kneel right here. Right where you told me I wasn’t good enough for _my bondmate_ , and you’re going to wait for Trish to come home.” She barely paused while Maxie dropped to her knees in the appointed spot. “I can’t punish you; you don’t belong to me. However, when Trish comes home, you will tell her everything that you have done, Maxine. You will ask her to punish you.”

Tara was so close to Maxie she felt her convulsive shiver. “Yes, Ma’am. I’m so…”

“No, Maxie,” Tara disagreed. She was suddenly exhausted. Tired in spirit and mind. “I don’t want to hear it.” Maxie wasn’t genuinely sorry. She was only sorry Tara had managed to quell her behavior. Leaving Maxie in the living room, Tara quickly packed an overnight bag. She couldn’t stay here right now. She needed time to calm down. And, Tara admitted as she zipped the bag closed, she really needed to see Faith.

There was only one place to do that. Ignoring Maxie’s plaintive voice calling her name, Tara looped the bag over her shoulder and left the house. It wasn’t fully dark yet. She had enough time to safely walk to the Slayer House.

The sidewalks were filled with students. Classes had resumed a couple of weeks ago; most of them still attempted to keep up with class work this early in the semester. Bundled into sweatshirts and coats, they hurried to and from campus. Tara wandered more slowly, her mind as heavy as the bag she carried.

Most life bonds formed early in life. Some while the bondmates were children. Others as late as the teen years. Only a rare handful of people bonded later than that. Growing up with a link to another person provided time for each bondmate to grow comfortable with their partner, to learn about their life and personality. By the time they finally physically met, there were few secrets to be had. Pasts were just that. Past.

Tara and Faith hadn’t had that opportunity. Slayers were the exceptions to the rule. They generally bonded late. Tara had never thought to ask why. Now she desperately needed to know all the things that made up “Faith” – without having to peer through the Council’s obviously biased point of view.

If the bond had formed earlier. If the bond was fully formed now. If Tara had had a chance to get to know Faith before she’d become a Slayer. If. If. If.

Realizing her footsteps had become frustrated stomps, Tara stopped and looked up at the stars. She knew better than to question the Goddess, but, oh, it was tempting.

“Every time I meet you, I think you’re running away. This time, you even have a suitcase.” Buffy said from a nearby park bench, causing Tara to jump from surprise. “Is it just me? Or do you dislike Sunnydale that much?”

Tara couldn’t very well deny Buffy’s accusation about running away. She was. “Actually, I think it must be you. Until we met at the other day at the House, I’d never even thought about leaving town,” she exaggerated. Buffy didn’t have to know she’d been packed and ready to run after her chat with Althenea. “I mean, as long as you’re here what else can I do? I’ll have to leave Sunnydale, the only home I’ve ever known.”

Buffy chuckled. “You need to stop spending time with Will. All the drama and exaggeration. She’s rubbing off on you. If you start to Willowbabble, too, we’re in so much trouble.” She shifted and winced visibly.

“Are you hurt?” Tara immediately sloughed off her bag and hurried over to the bench. “Buffy?” she prodded when Buffy didn’t answer her.

“I’m fine. Just…stiff.” It was more than that. Tara saw how carefully and slowly Buffy moved as she stood up. “I’ll be fine. I was heading home and needed to sit and think. Looks like you could do the same. You were on the warpath until I interrupted.”

It was a good description of Tara’s mental state. “How about I escort you home? I owe you for the last time,” she said.

“Normally, I’d laugh. I mean, a witch protect a Slayer?” Buffy picked up Tara’s bag and began a slow shuffle in the opposite direction of the Slayer House. “Janna said you’re a superwitch, though, so no laughing here. I’ll be the helpless sidekick if any vampires attack.”

From Buffy’s gait, she certainly wouldn’t be much use in a fight. Frowning, Tara matched Buffy’s pace. “What were you thinking about? And what did you do to get so stiff?” She caught Buffy’s glance and responded. “You may be a fighting machine, but you are a terrible liar. You aren’t fine. And you probably sat down on that bench to do your thinking because it was sit or fall over.”

“Janna always says smart women are hot,” Buffy muttered.

“I’m absolutely crushed you don’t agree,” Tara said wryly. “I mean, if I were a submissive and neither of us were already bonded…” She enjoyed Buffy’s snort and the way Buffy linked their fingers. But she wasn’t letting Buffy off the hook. “It doesn’t take Willow’s genius to spot the signs. You aren’t simply stiff. You’re hurt. Why aren’t you back at the House letting someone stitch you up?”

Buffy refused to answer with a firm shake of her head.

Stubborn Slayer. “Is there at least someone wherever we’re going who can help you?” If not, Tara might have to get mean and nasty. As Buffy had pointed out, she had enough power at her fingertips to make even a Slayer think twice.

“My mom and Xan.” There was something in Buffy’s voice. Warmth. Affection. Something Tara heard in her own voice when she spoke openly of Faith.

“Xan?” It was an unusual name. So unusual that Tara guessed further. “Xander? He’s yours?” How had she missed that?

Buffy’s pained-lined expression morphed into the softest smile Tara had ever seen. “We’re working through some issue. My issues. But yeah, he’s mine.”

A stab of jealousy took Tara’s breath away. She wanted that. She wanted to publicly announce that Faith belonged to her.

She wanted to look that happy.

Thankfully, Buffy stayed silent, lost in her own thoughts, until they turned onto Whiteoak Drive. It was long enough that Tara didn’t scream (or worse, cry) when Buffy asked, “What about you? I saw the new cuff. Is your sub having raptures planning the collaring ceremony?”

“No,” Tara answered reluctantly. She kept her eyes forward, afraid for Buffy to see her expression. “I…we haven’t met yet.” Not really. Faith didn’t have a clue who Tara really was.

“I’m sorry. I remember when Xander showed up in my head. I’d known him for over a year. He was already my best friend. All I could think about at first was claiming him.” Buffy squeezed Tara’s fingers. “Then a band of vampires broke into the school. One of them grabbed Xan, and I almost didn’t get there in time. I totally freaked out. I’ve spent the last year and a half running away and pretending I didn’t want him.”

“Why? Why run away and what changed your mind?” Tara really wanted to know, and getting the story from Buffy also kept Tara from having to dodge more questions about her bondmate.

Biting her lip pensively, Buffy shrugged. “It was all mixed up. Xan’s my bondmate, and I’d nearly let him get killed. What kind of Dominant does that? I should have been there. I’m not as smart as you and Willow. I’m a Slayer. We’re more about action than logic. All I could think was, what if some vampire came after Xander because we were bonded and this time I was too late? I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t take that risk. ” Her head tilted to one side. “I know, Xan. I know. I was wrong, OK? I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

Oh, Goddess. Tears threatened, and Tara swallowed them back. She couldn’t hear Faith like that. Couldn’t share her thoughts no matter where they were. “How did he get you to change your mind?”

“He didn’t,” Buffy said. “Someone else did. She took care of him one night when I’d almost pushed him over the edge. It made me see… Xander made me see I was wrong. I couldn’t protect him from my life. He was already part of it. He stood up to me, Tara.” It was clear Buffy was proud of that.

Tara followed Buffy down Revello Drive. They had to be close to Buffy’s final destination. Despite her careful movements, Buffy walked faster.

“Don’t think I missed how you got me to do all the talking,” Buffy warned Tara. “What’s bothering you, Tara? You’re one of the team now. We may yell and scream and get big with the drama, but we also do whatever it takes to take care of each other. We can’t help unless you tell us what’s wrong.”

“Thank you.” Tara marveled at Buffy’s offer. She’d grown up with only her mother for an ally and confidant. Now, in a little more than two weeks, she’d added a powerful new group of friends into her life. “I…there really isn’t anything you can do, Buffy. I just got some bad news about my bondmate. She’s been in some trouble, and my best friend thinks I should walk away from her.”

On the front walk of a welcoming-looking home, Buffy pulled Tara into a bear hug. “Your best friend is an idiot. Remember me? I’m the biggest idiot around. I almost did exactly what this friend is telling you to do – and it would have been the worst mistake of my life.” She stepped back with a wince. “Come on. I think even my hair hurts right now, and Xan’s waiting inside to soothe all my aches and pains.”

“Oh, so it’s all about Xander,” Tara mocked. “I get it. You’ll help me with my problems, but only when you aren’t letting your handsome sub pamper you.”

Pushing the door open, Buffy winked. “Duh, Tara. If your sub was waiting for you like _that,_ ” she waved a hand at the foyer, where Xander knelt nearly wiggling with anticipation, “you’d be all with the ‘me, me, me,’ too.”

Buffy had a good point. She also had a dopey, love-struck expression as she walked slowly toward Xander. “Hey, Xan. It’s been a rough day. I’d love it if you took me upstairs and helped me work out all the kinks.”

It was such a corny line that Tara wanted to cover her eyes. But Xander didn’t respond in kind. He flowed to his feet and with utmost care, swept Buffy up into his arms. “Yes, Ma’am.” As Buffy nuzzled her head under Xander’s chin, he started up the stairs.

“Damn! Wait a second, Xan.” Buffy’s head popped up and she peered over his shoulder as he froze in place. “Mom! Mom, I know you’re in the kitchen. I can hear you trying not to breathe.”

The door to Tara’s right swung open. “Have I mentioned recently how much I occasionally hate those enhanced senses of yours?” An older version of Buffy glowered at the pair on the stairs before smiling. “You are so cute together.” She turned to Tara. “Don’t you agree?”

Buffy’s bright blush was hysterical. “Absolutely,” Tara agreed.

“I’d stop right there, Tara, before I forget – again – that you’re part of the team now,” Buffy threatened.

“What my Ma’am meant to say, Mrs. Summers, is that Tara needs a place to stay tonight.” Xander didn’t turn around; he stayed just as Buffy had directed. However, he added over his shoulder. “It’s too late for her to go to the Slayer House or even back home. Would it be alright if she stayed in the guest room?”

Tara started to protest. She was more than capable of walking to the House on her own.

“Xander’s the best thing that ever happened to you, honey,” Mrs. Summers said, smiling brightly at the tongue Buffy stuck out at her. “Let your young man take you upstairs. I’ll get Tara all settled in for the night.” A single raised eyebrow dared Tara to refuse.

It was tempting, but not even super witches and developing Dominants stood a chance against a determined mother. “Thank you,” Tara mumbled.


	22. Chapter 22

Faith didn’t bother with the pool. She was too tired for even one slow lap. The attached hot tub, though, called her name. Dropping her clothes into a nearby patio chair, she slipped into the blissfully hot, bubbling water and closed her eyes. The heat immediately went to work on her muscles. Faith rolled her neck. Pops announced the release of tension.

Unfortunately, sitting completely motionless meant Faith had too much time to think.

What was she going to do? There was a brand new training and tutoring schedule taped to the door of her room. Muster, as Wes called it, was at six every morning. _Every_ morning. Calisthenics to improve her speed and stamina. Long-distance runs and timed trips through the obstacle course on alternating days. Hours of class work and daily assessments. The schedule covered every waking moment of the day.

Faith wanted to take the schedule and stuff it down Wes’ throat. At the same time, she wanted to prove to Buffy that she really was a good Slayer. Either decision boiled down to the same simple question: stay or go? And it was an equally simple answer. Faith would stay because she had nowhere else to go. She could run like she’d planned, of course. But the accident with Finch meant the Council would more than likely come after her. They believed she was out of control and dangerous. Hell, they wanted to deactivate her.

Maybe it wasn’t so simple after all. Faith didn’t _want_ to stay. She wanted to give the Welcome to Sunnydale sign a final one-fingered salute and head for greener pastures. Doing that meant an inevitable showdown with Buffy, and Faith would lose.

Damn Finch for being in that alley and putting her in this position!

With a curse, Faith realized her muscles were corded again. She took a deep breath and sank under the water. It was hard. The buoyancy kept trying to shove her up. Faith exhaled and fought the pull. Her immersion lasted seconds. She popped above the water – and startled Giles who had been peering into the shadow-shrouded hot tub.

“Dear Lord!” He stumbled back several steps, one hand pressed to his chest. “Are you alright? I had thought…You were under the water…” Recovering, Giles strode to the edge of the tub and leaned down, hand extended. “Do come out of there.” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Before I have a bloody heart attack.”

He was such a drama queen. Grinning reluctantly, Faith took his hand and allowed him to hoist her out of the water.

That’s when he noticed her swimwear.

Faith threw her head back and laughed. She couldn’t help it. Giles was beet red even in the rapidly dimming light. He was priceless. “I got clothes on,” she reminded him. Bra and panties. They covered all the good girlie bits.

“Indeed,” Giles managed in a strangled voice. “However, I recommend adding a few more. You have a visitor inside.”

“What?” All thoughts of teasing Giles further slipped from Faith’s mind. A visitor? She didn’t know anyone. No one who would qualify as a visitor, anyway. Grabbing her discarded jeans and T-shirt, she yanked them on over her wet underwear. Water immediately dripped down her legs and onto the ground. Her shirt fared worse, soaking up water from both her bra and hair.

Giles’ embarrassment gave way to hesitation. “Perhaps you should take a moment to change?”

“Another Council buddy out front I gotta impress?” That would make Faith’s day so much crappier. “Think I should let Wes dress me?” She’d skipped dinner to avoid having to dress properly, as he’d demanded at lunch.

“Why would you…” Giles broke off and turned away, but not before Faith saw the way his lips pressed together. “No, my dear. You do not need Mr. Wyndam-Pryce as a fashion advisor. I merely thought you would be more comfortable in dry clothes. I daresay the Mayor will not expect you in formalwear since his visit was unannounced.”

The Mayor. Wicked. Faith started for the House and then stopped. She’d killed his second-in-command. He was probably mad at her. Her stomach did a slow roll.

“Faith?” Of course Giles noticed her concern.

“He, uh, he ain’t out for blood or anything, right?” He’d been so friendly at his office. Faith didn’t want that to have changed. For the first time, Faith confronted the results of her actions in the alley. Killing Finch might have been an accident, but it might also have lost her the first real friend she’d ever had.

Giles immediately shook his head “The Mayor does not appear to hold a grudge, Faith. What happened to Deputy Mayor Finch was an accident.” His stare was intent as he continued. “Nearly everyone acknowledges that fact.”   
  
Nearly everyone. Was _Giles_ poking at the Council? Faith remembered the heated “discussion” between Giles, Buffy, and Wes the morning after she killed Finch. She’d only been able to hear Buffy, but... She’d think about that later. The Mayor was waiting. “Think it’d be OK if I said hi to the Mayor and then changed?” She didn’t want the Mayor to wait too long; he might decide to leave.   
  
“I think that is a wonderful idea.” Giles appeared pleased with her suggestion.   
  
When they entered the living room, however, Wes was there with the Mayor. And he looked as far from pleased as possible. “I want to assure you, Mr. Mayor, that the Council has taken Ms. Lehane’s actions extremely seriously. I have been assigned as her new Watcher. My focus...”  
  
He might have gone on forever, Faith thought, if the Mayor hadn’t spotted her frozen in the entryway. Springing from his chair, the Mayor strode across the room and pulled her into an unexpected hug. “Faith! I’ve been so worried about you.”   
  
“I’m all wet!” Faith choked out, trying to pull away (even as she secretly enjoyed his warm greeting).   
  
The Mayor pulled her closer in response. “It’s only water. I promise I’m not sweet enough to melt.” After one last squeeze, he stepped back - but kept his hands around her upper arms. “Are you alright? You weren’t hurt, were you? The police report says there were dozens of vampires with Allan.”  
  
Dragging her eyes away from the water stains on the Mayor’s suit, Faith shrugged. “Not even a scratch. Giles said they were supposed to be good with swords, but me and B handled them.”   
  
_Wide, confused eyes. Blood everywhere. On her hands, her clothes. Dripping onto the alley floor._  
  
Faith’s stomach heaved, and she swallowed hard. Her skin chilled, the air conditioning Arctic against her damp skin and clothes, and she shivered.  
  
The Mayor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re cold! How unbelievably rude of me to keep you here. Please, change clothes before you catch your death.” He held up a hand to forestall Faith’s refusal. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Go! Change!” There was no hint of Dominance in the command, only concern for Faith. “I’ll chat with these two fine gentlemen until you return.”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Faith muttered. When he released her, she dashed up the stairs. She didn’t want to be gone long. Wes the Bastard would spend the whole time telling the Mayor what a loser she was. No way did Faith want that. The Mayor had thought she was a hero the night they first met. Ripping impatiently at the heavy material of her jeans, she dragged off her pants. There was nothing Wes would consider appropriate in her closet. Still, Faith chose her best pair of black jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt. Her hair went back in a sloppy ponytail. Stuffing her feet into battered tennis shoes, Faith ran back to the living room.  
  
It was silent. All three men sat and glowered at each other as Faith skidded to a halt.   
  
The Mayor was the first to notice her return. He turned in his seat, face lighting with Faith’s favorite goofy smile. “You didn’t have to dress up for me. It’s late, and I know you’ve been hard at work today.” The smile wavered. “Mr. Wyndam-Pryce has been telling me about your training schedule. It sounds absolutely brutal.”

“Nah, I’m a Slayer. Piece of cake,” Faith lied uncomfortably. She could feel Wes observing her closely, waiting for her to say the wrong thing, to complain about the new regime.

And Buffy’s voice rang in her head, _“He’s got a lot of high powered friends on the Council.”_

The Mayor’s eyes flickered to Wes and back to Faith. “Mr. Giles, you are still in charge of Sunnydale’s Senior Slayer, correct?” At Giles’ murmured agreement, the Mayor crossed his arms and took up a protective stance in front of Faith. “Then I believe that also makes you the Watcher in Charge of this House. I request a private conversation with Ms. Lehane. Now.” His voice was imperious, a man clearly expecting to get what he wanted.

He did. Giles stood and pulled Wes up by the arm of his suit jacket. “Of course, Mr. Mayor. How thoughtless of me and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I’m sure it seems as if we don’t trust Faith or that she is a prisoner here. That is far from the truth. Please. Make yourself at home.” With a happy glint in his eyes, he marched toward the door, dragging a reluctant Wes with him.

As soon as they disappeared around the corner, the Mayor leaned in close and asked in a whisper, “Are they really gone?”

Tilting her head, Faith made a show of listening closely. “Yeah. They went upstairs.”

“Good. That Wesley is amazingly irritating, and I think he’s got it in for you, Faith. I wasn’t kidding. That schedule of his is nothing short of abuse.” Throwing his arms out, Richard continued. “While you were upstairs, he told me that the Council was watching you. He had the gall to tell me I didn’t have anything to worry about. That you would learn self-control or they’d turn you off. Can they do that? More importantly, _why_ would they do that?”

Twice in one day, Faith had heard just what the Council had planned. Follow their rules or lose the only thing in her life that mattered: being a Slayer. She should come clean with the Mayor. Tell him the truth about just how “good” she was. Faith opened her mouth and couldn’t find the words. Dropping her head, she shrugged listlessly.

“Don’t you dare do that!” Richard put a hand under Faith’s chin and pulled it up. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t you _ever_ bow your head until your Dominant bonds with you, and _that_ is a gesture of respect. These Council buffoons are wrong about you, Faith. Wrong!”

“I killed your friend,” Faith whispered in a husky voice.

Richard’s hand shifted until his thumb covered Faith’s lips. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you.”

Pressure built behind Faith’s eyes, in her throat, and on her chest. Afraid to breathe, she froze in the Mayor’s grasp. She didn’t cry, damn it. Not ever. Finally, though, she managed to say, “The Council does. Fucking Wes does, too!” The words were still soft but Faith’s anger crept in.

“I knew it. My poor Faith.” His expression grew intent. “That Wesley character, he didn’t punish you, did he?”

Faith shook her head. “No. Not yet. I think he wanted to but B…Buffy wouldn’t let him. They got some kinda deal or he’da dragged me to Scotland and turned off the Slayer switch already.” She met his eyes briefly before staring at a scuff mark on the far wall. “That new training schedule… Pretty sure he’s using it to yank my chain. Show me how I suck at being a Slayer.”

“Language, Faith.” Richard’s mock stern glare made Faith’s lips twitch. “And I keep telling you, you’re a wonderful Slayer. The Council doesn’t understand you like I do.” He steered her gently to the couch and sat down next to her. “Faith, I know you love Slaying. I can see it every time we talk. But this place…this House…It’s not good for you. All the rules and stuffy Watchers don’t give you the opportunity to excel and grow the way I know you can.”

“Slaying is wicked.” Faith had recovered her composure enough to shrug off the rest of Richard’s comments. Or, she tried to. Richard was right about the rules and the Watchers. She’d thought the same thing since meeting Diana for the first time. And Richard really did seem to understand the way she thought. “I ain’t qualified for anything else.” The truth about her past hovered on her lips, but Faith swallowed the words. She wasn’t going to even _think_ about Boston, let alone talk about it.

For the first time, Richard seemed disappointed in her. Faith shrank away from his heavy sigh and his unhappy frown. “You don’t even remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” What was he talking about? Faith frantically tried to remember everything they’d ever talked about.

“The job.” The Mayor turned toward her and seized her hands. “I want you to come work for me, Faith. Lead my private security team. You are the _only_ one qualified to help me with that.” Loud (very loud) footsteps on the stairs announced Giles’ and Wes’ return. The Mayor broke off with a thunderous expression and then the frown disappeared. “Do you trust me, Faith?” he asked intently.  
  
Of course. “Yes, Sir,” Faith said. He’d stood up with for her against Wes, and he thought she deserved to be a Slayer. He thought she was even good enough to work for him.   
  
“Excellent.” The Mayor spoke faster, rushing to finish his comment before they lost their privacy. “No matter what happens, you let me do the talking, OK?”  
  
To show she understood, Faith merely nodded in reply. It earned her one of the Mayor’s quirky smiles and a double-hand squeeze.  
  
“Ah, Mr. Mayor.” Wes was all smiles as he walked back into the living room. “Forgive me for the intrusion; however, Ms. Lehane must be ready for her studies tomorrow.  I’m sure you don’t want her to do poorly during exams or training. Perhaps we could arrange another visit for you? At your convenience, of course.”  
  
The Mayor stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “Absolutely not,” he announced. Into the stunned silence that followed, he said, “Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I didn’t come here only to visit with Faith. I also came to bring her some very important information. I see now that I should have gotten that out of the way immediately because it is clear you are punishing her for the accidental death of my Deputy Mayor.”  
  
Wes straightened as if the Mayor had slapped him. He looked ridiculous with his chest puffed out like the big rooster in the Looney Tunes cartoons. “Your accusation is patently untrue, Mr. Mayor. There has been no punishment at all. I am merely attempting to mold Ms. Lehane into a more acceptable Slayer.”

It always came back to that one point for Wes and for the Council. Faith wasn’t good enough. It was more than her lack of fighting skills. They didn’t approve of who she was or how she acted.

“You, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, are a fool. And if your Council cannot see how truly amazing and wonderful Faith is, then you don’t deserve her.” The Mayor extended a hand to Faith, gently helping her to her feet. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say _she_ deserves far better than anything you can offer.” He pulled Faith protectively against his side. “And that’s why she’s leaving with me tonight. I have offered Faith a position on my personal staff, and I am delighted to say she has accepted.”

If Wes had actually been Foghorn Leghorn, animated puffs of steam would have jetted from his ears. He wasn’t, though. The only sign of his displeasure was a darkening flush and the taut line of his shoulders.

“I am so very sorry, Sir,” Giles said before Wes had a change to blow his top. “Under normal circumstances, Faith would be free to leave her position with the Council.” His eyes, behind the shielding lenses of his glasses, met Faith’s. She thought he _did_ seem upset by what he had to say. “Faith’s accident with Deputy Mayor Finch places her in a unique situation. One in which Faith must pass certain Council certifications before resuming her full duties. Perhaps in a few months…”

A few months. Faith forgot about her promise to the Mayor. “I ain’t stayin’ and you can’t make me.”

One of the Mayor’s hands landed on her shoulder and gripped tightly in reminder. “Faith is correct, Mr. Giles. You cannot keep her here; not because of her undoubtedly superb fighting skills, though. This will _not_ turn into a common brawl. As I mentioned, I came here to give Faith some news, some reassurance that she had not killed an innocent man in that alley. Last night, while helping my staff clean Allen’s office, I discovered communications – emails and taped phone calls – between him and a demon named Balthazar. I’m sure you know the name; you are the experts in evil, after all. My Deputy Mayor was _helping_ those vampires, and he wasn’t in that alley by chance. He was there to kill Buffy and Faith.”

Yanking away from the Mayor’s hold, Faith spun to stare at him.

“You didn’t murder Allen Finch, Faith,” the Mayor repeated softly. “You did your job. You stayed alive and eliminated a threat to Sunnydale. The Council has no right to keep you here or to make you pass any tests. The newspapers will be full of the story in the morning. Everyone will know the truth. Go. Pack a bag for tonight. We’ll buy whatever else you need tomorrow.”

Faith couldn’t stop smiling. She was free. Free of the Council. Free of Wes. Free from the stupid rules. “Be right back,” she told him. After all, she had a bag already packed and waiting in her closet.


	23. Chapter 23

Dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, Tara curled into the corner of the Summers’ couch and stared at the television. Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage didn’t hold her interest; unfortunately, she hadn’t felt comfortable hiding out in the guest room. It was far too early to sleep and she hadn’t packed anything to read or study. Her plan had been to stay at the Slayer House and maybe spend time with Faith, not spend the night at Buffy’s.

“You look like Buffy staked your puppy,” Joyce said. She muted the volume on the television and turned so she sat facing Tara at the other end of the couch. The Inquisition was apparently about to start. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Tara briefly considered running for safety. In her experience, mothers were more dangerous than any horde of vampires roaming the city. Joyce might be Buffy’s mother, but Tara didn’t really know her. And even if she did, she still wouldn’t be able to talk about her problems with Maxie and Faith. “No, no puppy. No stake, either.” She tried to tease Joyce away from any further questions. It had been a long day, filled with too many ups and downs. If Joyce pushed too hard, Tara was afraid she’d break down and cry.   
  
“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m free. And I don’t get too upset if you ignore my advice.” Joyce’s smile was wry enough to wring a laugh from Tara. “Buffy is very stubborn. She _says_ it’s because she’s a Slayer and it’s part of the job. I think she simply doesn’t want to listen to her mother. I’m used to being ignored. Or worse, told I have no idea what I’m talking about.”  
  
Pieces of Buffy and Joyce’s earlier conversation suddenly made sense. “Let me guess,” Tara murmured, “you told Buffy to stop pushing Xander away?”  
  
“Oh my God, yes.” Joyce threw her hands up in the air. “That boy worships the ground Buffy walks on. He’s been part of the family since we moved to Sunnydale; long before the bond formed. I bought invitations for the collaring ceremony the second I knew they were bondmates - and Buffy told me I was...” Her head tilted and Joyce frowned in an effort to remember. “That’s right. I was old and meddling and I needed to stay out of her life. She could make her own decisions.”   
  
Ouch. Tara winced in belated sympathy.  
  
“I learned a long time ago, Tara,” Joyce continued. “You can’t force anyone to do something they don’t want. Subs, Slayers, daughters. All irrelevant. You have to state the options and possible consequences and then step back. Thankfully, Xander was loyal and patient enough to wait for my daughter to wake up and see what was dangling in front of her nose.”  
  
Loyal and patient. Maybe Tara should get Xander to teach her those skills. She’d need them in spades to wait for Faith.   
  
“There you go frowning again. Buffy isn’t here. And you said you had no puppy,” Joyce reminded Tara.   
  
Goddess, Joyce was relentless. And Tara knew she’d never be able to remain silent if she stayed here for further interrogation. Joyce would know all of her secrets; Tara would offer them all up. “I...I’m t-tired,” she lied badly. Even Tara heard the lack of truth in her statement. “Maybe I should...”  
  
Joyce wasn’t buying her story either. Tara watched Joyce’s eyes narrow and froze like a sub caught wiggling during Corner Time. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not going to turn you over my knee.” With a pout that made her seem far closer to Buffy’s age, Joyce slumped back against the couch arm. “Alright. Fine. I’ll stop asking questions. I’ll just sit over here, quietly, and watch the rest of the movie.” As if to prove her sincerity, Joyce unmuted the television.   
  
“Oh, stop. Please, please stop.” Tara broke. She was no match for Joyce. Mom Mode was soul destroying. Holding her hands up in surrender, Tara said reproachfully, “You win. I’ll tell you whatever you w-want to know.”  
  
“Whatever I want, huh?” Joyce actually turned off the television this time. That’s when Tara realized how very quiet it was in the room. Just her and Joyce. Alone.  “Honey, if I really tortured all our guests before tucking them into bed, Buffy would have staked me years ago. Look at you. You can’t get any farther away from me unless you get up and leave the room.”

True. Sad, yet true. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a little,” Joyce allowed. “Xander calls this place Casa de Summers. We’re the unofficial second Slayer House of Sunnydale. If you yelled for help – or even whispered it – my daughter would be down those stairs ready to save you. It wouldn’t matter that I’m her mother. She’d pick me up, twirl me over her head with one hand, and throw me into the nearest wall.”

“Good to know.” Imagining the tiny Buffy twirling Joyce over her head like a cartoon superhero helped Tara grow more comfortable. “So ‘help’ is the house safe word?” she teased.

Joyce’s chuckle made Tara smile in response. “Hank, my sub, travels most of the time. Until Xander moved in, we didn’t need a safe word. I’ll have to make sure to tell Buffy…” She winked and grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest. “Better now?”

“Better, yes.” But Tara still needed a crutch to answer the questions she knew Joyce would ask. Getting up, she roamed around the room. Maybe the movement would keep her mind too preoccupied to worry anymore.

“Buffy’s told me a lot about you, Tara.” Joyce’s voice followed Tara as she wandered toward the fireplace mantle. Framed photos filled the long wooden beam. “You’re a witch?”

At least Joyce had started simple. Tara had covered this particular topic so often in the past few days that it was easy to answer. “Hereditary. My mother was a witch, too.” And, because it was a logical next question, Tara said, “I just joined the Council this morning. I’ll be taking over the introduction to magic sessions.” Picking up one of the photos, Tara stared at Willow, Xander, and Buffy. They were arm in arm and grinning madly at the camera. They looked so young and happy. The next photo was Buffy alone. She was a child. Dressed in… Was that tights? And ice skates? Tara remembered Buffy’s admission that she’d wanted to be in the Ice Capades.

“That’s my favorite shot of her,” Joyce said. Tara turned to see her stretched out on the couch, gaze far away with memory. “She wanted so desperately to be a skater. The Ice Capades,” she said, echoing Tara’s thoughts. Then Joyce blinked, coming back to the present. “Fate has a funny way of changing your mind, though. Buffy had to give up skating when she was Called three years ago.”

Poor Buffy. Setting the picture down, Tara regarded Joyce and asked, “What’s it like? Having a Slayer for a daughter?” She wanted to know how Joyce dealt with the constant danger to Buffy. The late-night battles and possibly fatal war wounds.

“Horrifying.” Joyce shrugged when Tara stared at her in disbelief. “If you hadn’t wanted to know the truth, you wouldn’t have asked. It’s the most terrifying thing ever. I worry all the time. Every time she goes out.”

“H-How do you cope?” Tara didn’t want to become some weak, clinging Domme when Faith went on patrol.

“I got involved.” Laughing at Tara’s wide-eyed expression, Joyce explained. “Buffy’s job will always scare me, but being part of the research crew and support staff means I get a chance to help. To keep Buffy safer.”

Tara nodded in agreement. It made sense. Being part of the Council would empower her to keep Faith safe. She’d made the right decision today. Completing the Trial, joining the Council. She’d be at Faith’s side, for research _and_ patrol.

“Is that why you did it?” Joyce asked. She must have somehow read Tara’s mind; her comments eerily followed Tara’s inner pep talk. “Is that why you joined the Council? Is your submissive a Slayer or another witch?” She gestured at Tara’s cuff. “Lydia and Janna both say no one joins the fight without a reason. What’s…”

A phone rang somewhere in the house, saving Tara from answering.

“Come on. We can grab drinks and snacks while I get this. Maybe Xander and Buffy will come out of the Love Den and join us.” Joyce hopped off the couch and strode out of the room.

Follow or hide until Joyce forgot that final question? Sighing, Tara trudged after Joyce. Why not? She’d already done so many thing she’d feared today. What was one more?

Luckily, Joyce was on the phone when Tara pushed open what proved to be the kitchen door. She took a seat at one of the barstools at the large island and pretended not to listen to the one-sided phone conversation.

“I’m sorry, Rupert. Buffy’s upstairs.” Tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear, Joyce winked at Tara and began pulling glasses from a cabinet. “Is something wrong? You sound… What?” One of the glasses thudded to the counter, and Joyce gripped it so tightly Tara saw her knuckles whiten. “Damn. I mean, it’s better for Faith, but…”

Faith. Tara’s head snapped up, her eyes locked on Joyce. What was better for Faith? Joyce kept talking. None of her words made sense. They didn’t connect with anything. They weren’t _about Faith_. Just platitudes about how things would be better. Different. It was a miracle Tara didn’t rip the phone from Joyce’s hand and demand her own answers from Giles.

Instead, she stared unblinkingly at Joyce and waited until she hung up before demanding, “What happened to Faith?” Tara wasn’t thinking of anything except Faith; she made no effort to pretend only polite interest. The question rang with authority and Dominance. It carried all the worry of a Domme for her submissive.

Joyce’s gaze sharpened.

“Mom? I heard the phone. Giles is the only one who ever calls this late. What did he want?” Buffy and Xander had slipped into the kitchen without Tara noticing. “Hello?”

Without glancing away from Tara, Joyce said, “Rupert called to tell you that Faith left.”

No! Tara bit back her automatic protest and pushed her awareness through the link. She couldn’t let Faith run away. She couldn’t feel her, though. Nothing. Not even a stray thought or emotion. The link was dark. Was it her imagination that the bond was even narrower and more twisted than before?

“I have to go after her. I have to find her before the retrieval team. Wes’ll deactivate her for sure this time.” Buffy spun stiffly and started for the door.

“No, honey. Faith didn’t run away.” Joyce walked slowly across the kitchen and placed a hand on Tara’s shoulder. “She’s fine. She didn’t run away,” she repeated. “The Mayor came to visit the House. Apparently, the Deputy Mayor was working for a demon and was trying to kill you in the alley. They have proof. Faith left the Council to work for the Mayor, and Giles had to let her go.”

***

“I thought about asking you to move in with me, Faith.” The Mayor hadn’t brought his limo to the House. However, the new-model sedan was just as clean on the inside. He’d even climbed into the back seat with her instead of sitting up front with the driver. “But I was afraid the good people of Sunnydale might get the wrong idea. Small-minded people, Faith. That’s what some of my citizens are. So I have another plan. I hope you like it.” He grinned, a mischievous boy in a man’s body, as the car parked in front of an apartment building.

The driver got out and opened the Mayor’s door. He slid out. “Come on. Let me show you my big surprise. I can’t believe this. I hoped and hoped for this moment.”

Faith got out and looked around. They were a few blocks from Buffy’s house and Miller’s Woods. She didn’t waste too much time gawking, though. The Mayor fairly danced with impatience on the sidewalk. Shouldering her bag, she followed him inside.

“I found this place by accident. Now that you’re here, it’s like Fate had a hand in it. Fate must have known what I’d need.” Richard babbled throughout the elevator ride to the third floor. Faith almost asked him if he’d ever met Willow. When the elevator announced their arrival and the doors slid open, he grabbed Faith’s hand and dragged her down the hallway.

He released her long enough to unlock the only door at this end of the hall. Shoving the door open, Richard stepped to one side and gestured for Faith to go inside.

With slow, hesitant strides, Faith did – and then stopped a few paces into the large apartment. All the lights were on. They lit up the open living space, the gleaming appliances in the kitchen, and bounced off the skylight that made up the ceiling for one whole side of the main room. “What is this?”

“Your apartment, Faith.” Richard held out his hand, and the key to the apartment dangled in front of her.

Faith automatically took the key. The metal was warm and heavier than she’d expected.

Watching her with a pleased smile, Richard said softly. “Take a look around. Tell me what you think. If it’s not good enough, we’ll tour some other complexes tomorrow.”

Not good enough. The Mayor was crazy. Faith’s childhood home in Boston had been so small it would have fit in the _kitchen_ here. It wasn’t only the size, though. Richard had thought of everything. The apartment was fully furnished with overstuffed leather furniture. A large television and gaming console dominated the living room. A heavy bag hung from the ceiling in a wood-floored alcove.

The more Faith saw, the more she fell in love with _her apartment_.

“Check out the bedroom.” Richard had let Faith explore the airy living space alone. Now he followed her down a short hallway.

The bedroom was tucked into the very back of the apartment. It, too, was already furnished. A massive bed covered with a dark blue comforter took up one wall. Sitting right in the middle of the mattress was a wicker basket. Faith peered at it. Nestled amid oranges, apples, and bananas was a dagger.

Faith pulled it out, admiring the perfectly-balanced weight of the weapon. The blade was dual-edged and narrowed just before flaring into sharply pointed quillons.

“Welcome home, Faith,” Richard murmured from behind her.


	24. Chapter 24

Sitting across the desk from Richard, Faith tried to follow his conversation. It wasn’t easy. Or interesting. “I understand, Bob. I do. Graffiti is expensive and difficult to remove.” Glancing up, he caught Faith’s eye and grimaced comically. She loved that about him. He never took anything too seriously.   
  
“It’s not about the money!” Bob’s voice was loud and clear through the speaker on Richard’s phone. “It’s about catching these damned kids. I’ve had officers patrolling the area for weeks, but they never see anyone.” There was a loud bang. Bob must have smacked his desk or thrown something into a wall.   
  
Faith rolled her eyes. It was just graffiti. She stifled a bored sigh and shifted in the chair. If Richard didn’t get off the phone soon, Faith was going to go crazy. She’d been trapped inside all day. No sun. No gym. Nothing but listening to him take calls or watching him sign documents. Her leg bounced with repressed energy. The energy grew with no outlet. Her other leg bounced. Faith shifted in the chair a second time before refocusing on the Mayor.  
  
“...schedule more officers tomorrow. Overtime isn’t in the budget, I’m afraid. In fact, I’m getting pressure from the City Council to make cutbacks to the force,” Richard said. “And before you say anything, I know it’s not the right solution. It’s the last thing we need to do. Our crime rate is already too high.”   
  
Bob cleared his throat. “I know you’ll do what you can.” He was far more subdued now. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll do what I can about the graffiti and let you get back to work.”  
  
The speaker went dead, and the room grew silent.   
  
“I thought he’d never shut up.” Stretching his arms over his head, Richard yawned. “My gosh! It’s lunchtime already, and I’ve gotten nothing done. I had this great plan, Faith. I swear. I was going to introduce you to everyone before taking you shopping. You need more clothes. I whisked you away with literally nothing more than the clothes on your back. But I’m stuck. I can’t leave. I have more mind-numbing meetings starting in just a few minutes.”

He stood up and hurried around the desk to Faith.  “Don’t judge your new job from what you’ve seen today. In fact, I have a special project for you. It’s not big. Just a little information gathering for now. But I think it’s right up your alley.”

“Information, huh?” Please, not digging through big dusty books. Faith _hated_ research.

“I’m hurt, Faith. I can tell what you’re thinking.” His voice went from its normal baritone to a squeaky falsetto. “Richard, I don’t want to be inside with a bunch of books. I’m a Slayer. I want to run around Sunnydale killing evil things.”

Faith tried to hide her grin – and failed. “You got that ESP shit…um, stuff, don’t you?

“If only.” Richard dropped into the chair next to Faith and propped his feet on his desk. “If that had been true, my friend Allan wouldn’t have betrayed me.”

That had to have hurt. “I’m sorry,” Faith told him. “What was he trying to do with the vamps? I mean, they don’t usually do much with humans except Turn ‘em or drain ‘em.” Could a human use the amulet she and Buffy had retrieved for Giles? What would Finch have used it for?

“Not your fault. Not your fault at all.” Rubbing his eyes with both hands, Richard was silent for a moment. Then he clapped his hands. “Enough gloom and doom. It’s your first day, and I need to tell you about your first project. It _is_ about books,” he said, pointing at Faith. “But you won’t have to read a single one. All I need you to do is find them.”

Find books. “Like, go to the library?” That was as bad as researching in Faith’s opinion.

“Oh, no. These aren’t normal books. I found a reference to a collection of books, the Books of Ascension. Allan was planning to buy them from a broker in town. I need you to find him. From the few notes I found, the broker’s a demon named Skyler.”

“No problem. You want them books, I’ll get ‘em for you.” And maybe work off some energy killing the demon that had them.

“Excellent.” Richard stood and straightened his suit jacket. “The key to running a city, Faith, is having the right people in the right positions. I’ve needed you in my organization for a long time. Thankfully, those idiots at the Slayer House didn’t see what a treasure they had. I do.” He nodded firmly. “I most certainly do. Now, let’s talk strategy. I want to make sure…”

The phone rang.

Faith watched Richard’s jaw tighten in response. Apparently, he really wanted to discuss the strategy phase. It wasn’t her favorite thing; she’d put up with it because he thought it was important. “No big, Boss. I’ll take a walk, grab some lunch. What time should I head back for the briefing?” He looked so miserable as the phone rang again. She felt sorry for him – just not enough to stay inside while he sat through another conference call.

“Six? I will unplug the phone and lock the door to anyone except you.” With a happier smile, Richard picked up the phone. “We’ll go to dinner and talk some more about your fact finding mission, Faith. Enjoy yourself today. This is Mayor Wilkins,” he said into the phone.

Faith left him to his call. She was raring to go now. Sunnydale beckoned. At least, it did until the Mayor’s snapping fingers halted her a few steps from the door.  When she turned back, Richard waved a handful of bills at her.

He didn’t need to give her money. Faith dug out her wallet and showed him the unspent fifty from their first meeting.

Richard apparently didn’t care. “Could you hold on for just a minute?” he asked the person on the phone. “I just need to take care of one last item.” Punching a button on the phone console, he shook his head at Faith. “Don’t make me come over there and stuff this in your pocket. If you won’t take it as a gift, consider it an advance on your first paycheck.”

A paycheck. Faith hadn’t even thought about that. She had a real job; real jobs came with real salaries. “An advance,” she told the Mayor. “You already gave me money _and_ the apartment, Boss. I’ll earn everything else.”

“Of course you will. You don’t have some made up job with no responsibilities.” Richard tucked the cash into Faith’s hand. “Go enjoy yourself. I bet you’ve been locked up in that Slayer House for weeks.” Picking up the phone again, Richard punched the same (now blinking) button on the console. “Thanks for holding. Let’s get down to business.”

Turning away, Faith wandered out of the office and into the bright afternoon sunlight.

***

Unlocking the front door, Tara walked into the quiet house. She’d chosen the timing for her return deliberately. Joyce had been hip deep in getting Buffy and Xander off to school. And Trish and Maxie both had early classes on Monday. Tara wasn’t ready for another confrontation. The news about Faith had left her reeling. All she wanted was some peace and quiet and a private place to cry.

Faith was gone.

Tara knew, intellectually, that Faith hadn’t run away. That she was still in Sunnydale. And Faith hadn’t run from Tara. She didn’t have a clue Tara was anything more than a shy, awkward woman she’d talked to a few times.

Somehow, though, none of that logic mattered. Joyce’s announcement the previous night had punched a hole in Tara’s chest. She’d sat numbly while Buffy had ranted.

_“She can’t work for the Mayor. She’s a Slayer!” Buffy flung out her arms and then gasped. She moved much slower as she lowered her arms. “She can’t leave, Mom. Giles has to bring her back.”_

_Tara agreed. Only, in her mind, Giles would have nothing to do with Faith’s return. She would. Faith was her submissive. How could she have made a decision like this without asking Tara about it? Tara was so far gone in confusion and a growing sense of betrayal, she didn’t register the fact that Faith wasn’t really her sub. Nor that Faith had no need to get her approval for anything she did._

_All Tara cared about at that moment was bringing Faith back._

_“After all we did for her…” Buffy had run out of steam. She slumped onto the stool next to Tara. “We put ourselves out there for her over and over again, Mom. And tonight, I…” Her eyes darted to Tara and the comment was never completed._

Faith had left after Tara had faced her fears and taken the Trial. Tara was now a member of the Council that Faith had spurned. The Council…Tara…Faith had turned her back on them both.

Feeling as fragile as spun glass, Tara closed and locked her bedroom door, closed the blinds, and curled up beneath the comforter. She wanted to go back in time, back to before. Before the Winter Social and the all-encompassing changes to her life.

Before Faith.

Despite the sunlight leaking through the wooden blinds, the room grew impossibly darker. Gloom settled around Tara’s heart like a shroud. She’d obviously failed somewhere. Missed one of the tests Althenea had mentioned or made a wrong decision. She’d failed Faith. Staring blindly into the shadows, Tara examined everything she’d done in the past two weeks.

Where had everything gone wrong?

Tara might have wallowed in misery all day if someone hadn’t rapped lightly at the bedroom door. “Tar?” Trish called softly. “Are you there?”

“Go away,” Tara answered. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not until she’d found her mistake – and maybe a way to fix it.

“Please, Tara. Please open the door.” There was a rustle and then the door handle wiggled as Trish tried to open it herself. “I know you’re probably still angry. And…and I don’t blame you. But please open the door anyway.”

She wasn’t going away. Trish had never been good at giving up. Climbing out of bed, Tara shuffled to the door and turned the push-lock. “Come in,” she said ungraciously as she stomped back to the bed. She sat with her back to the headboard and hugged a pillow. Protection and much needed comfort all rolled into one. “What do you want?”

"To talk.” Although Trish hesitated for a second in the doorway, she squared her shoulders and walked to the bed.

Talking was the last thing Tara wanted to do right now. “No.” She had nothing to say to Trish at the moment, and she didn’t want to hear about Maxie or the scene from yesterday.

Trish recoiled as if Tara had smacked her. “I…” Moving woodenly, Trish backed away.

What was she _doing?_ A sob tore from Tara’s throat. Trish was her friend. Her first and best friend. Tara covered her face with the pillow, trying to muffle the hoarse, ripping sounds.

Proving she was a better person than Tara, Trish sat next to Tara and pulled her into a tight hug. “Oh,Tar. I’ve got you. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

Would it be alright? That single question fueled Tara’s tears until finally, the well ran dry. Hiccupping breaths shook Tara as she struggled to bring her emotions back under control. She was dimly aware of the hand stroking up and down her back and the way Trish gently rocked them back and forth on the bed.

“Guess I don’t have to ask how your day went,” Trish murmured.

It surprised a tired, rusty laugh from Tara. “No,” she squeaked. “It pretty much sucked.” Huddling in Trish’s embrace, she poured out the story. “I really thought I had a chance, Trish. I did. Faith _responded_ to me yesterday even if the bond wasn’t there. And now… now she’s gone,” Tara finished. “She’s gone.” The tears tried to start up again. A few leaked from her eyes before petering out. Depression hovered around Tara like a specter.

“I thought you said Faith just took another job? Isn’t she still in Sunnydale?” Trish rearranged them so they sat side by side against the headboard.

“She works for the Mayor now.” And Tara would never see her. Never get to talk to her the way she had yesterday.

Trish apparently didn’t understand Tara’s problem. “I see. So you could call City Hall and ask her out to lunch tomorrow?”

“I…I…” Tara faltered.

“Or you could walk or drive over there and ask her in person,” Trish pressed. “She isn’t dead, Tara. She didn’t move to the other side of the world. She didn’t repudiate your bond. She took _another job_. Did you know Maxie’s changed her major four times since we moved here? If I followed your logic, I’d be curled in a ball in my bedroom closet and never come out. Does Maxie’s inability to make up her mind mean she’s left me?”

Damn Trish. Damn her for making sense. Feeling like a fool, Tara mumbled a sullen, “No.”

“It’s hard, I know. The bond really messes with you,” Trish continued. “The classes make it sound like a fairy tale. There’s this perfect connection with your soulmate. Fate chooses the one person in all the world who’ll complete you, and there is nothing and no one who can break it.” Bumping Tara’s shoulder, Trish turned her head and met Tara’s eyes. “It’s a lie, Tar. The bond is the most amazing thing ever, sure. The rest? The rest takes work. It doesn’t matter that Maxie and I can feel each other’s emotions or share our thoughts. No one can do that all the time. And even feeling her emotions doesn’t mean I understand them. Or understand them correctly.”

What Trish said made sense. It also didn’t help Tara feel more positive about her non-relationship with Faith.

“Do you _want_ a bond with Faith, Tara?” Trish prodded.

"Of course!” Tara snapped. “Faith needs me.” Faith needed her. Faith, with that killer smile and the sharp mind. Faith with her confidence issues, who soaked up encouragement and praise.

Trish didn’t respond. She waited.

For what? Tara frowned. Faith needed her, and that need filled some empty space in Tara’s heart. Oh… Oh, Goddess. “I’m an idiot.” It was a good thing Trish didn’t verbally agree; although, Tara saw her nod at the statement. “This isn’t all about me, is it?” What did Faith want? What did she really need? “I want a bond with Faith, Trish. I want it _so bad_. She’s funny and smart and beautiful.” Taking a deep breath, Tara finally got Trish’s point. “And I’m willing to work to make her want and need me, too.”

Trish rewarded her with a hug. “I know you will, Tar.”

When Trish pulled away and chewed on her lip, Tara knew they weren’t finished talking. “Trish?”

“I, uh, didn’t think everything through. Maybe this isn’t the best timing, but… Maxie’s in the living room waiting for us.” She chewed harder, and Tara expected to see blood on Trish’s lip any second. “She needs you to forgive her for what she said.”

Tara stood up and held out a hand to Trish. “I can do that.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Tara could forgive Maxie for what she’d said. Someday. It was unlikely that she’d ever _forget_ Maxie’s harsh comments. She helped Trish off the bed and followed her into the living room.

As Trish had said, Maxie was in the living room.

She’d neglected to mention that Maxie wasn’t sitting on the couch or in the recliner. Instead, she knelt in the middle of the room. A row of punishment tools stretched in a line at her knees.

Glancing at Trish, Tara saw her resolute expression as she said, “Tara, I know what happened yesterday. Maxie confessed what she did and what she said to you. I have punished her for her actions.”

Then why were there paddles and riding crops on the living room floor?

“However, Maxie hurt you, Tara.” Each of Trish’s words knotted Tara’s stomach. “Please punish her for the pain she caused. Please choose one of the tools I’ve provided and help Maxie understand that her actions were wrong.”

“Trish,” Tara immediately protested. Then she stopped and actually thought about Trish’s request.

_She needs you to forgive her_ , Trish had said in the bedroom.

That’s what it was all about. Need and forgiveness. As she walked closer and peered at Maxie, Tara knew the other girl didn’t _want_ another punishment. Not with the fresh collection of bruises already dotting the portion of her ass Tara could see. Tara had to be sure, though. Gently cupping Maxie’s chin, she said quietly,  “Look at me.”

Only Maxie’s eyes moved. She met Tara’s gaze and Tara felt Maxie’s involuntary shiver. There was reluctance in every line of Maxie’s body. And absolute acceptance in her eyes.

So be it. Tara ignored her own pounding heart and the horrible memories from her childhood. She focused solely on Maxie. “Choose one of the items your mistress left out, Maxine.” Tara couldn’t do that. She couldn’t deliberately pick a paddle over a crop. Maxie could, though. “And hold it up for her approval,” she added, releasing her hold on Maxie and taking a step to one side.

Maxie’s hand shook noticeably as she picked up the longest crop in the line.

Tara saw Trish’s tight nod. Wonderful. She took the two-foot long crop in both hands. The leather-covered fiberglass was cool to the touch. Smooth. “Stand up, Maxine, and bend over the arm of the couch, please.” The words felt wrong in Tara’s mouth. Too big, too hard.

The crop slid in her hand until Tara slipped the leather loop at the end over her wrist. When Maxie was in place, Tara steeled her nerves and rested the crop across the middle of Maxie’s ass. “I still don’t understand why you thought you knew more than Fate, Maxine. Or why you thought my repudiating Faith would be better than a bond. Explain it to me, please.” Bringing the crop back in a careful, horizontal line, Tara waited for Maxie’s acknowledgement.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The tiny whisper released the crop.

Tara snapped her wrist. With a sound halfway between a whistle and a hum, the crop shot forward and landed with a solid _thwack_.

Maxie’s shrill cry of pain gripped Tara’s heart in a tight fist.

_“Shut up! If you don’t stop making all that noise, I’ll gag you!” The next crack of the whip was sharper, and Tara covered her ears as her mother’s scream echoed in the room._

“Why did you do it, Maxine?” Swallowed sobs pushed the words out in a staccato rush.

Tara watched Maxie’s fingers tighten around the couch cushion and her ass waved from side to side for a second. “I got the information for you. To give to you.” It was hard to separate Maxie’s explanation from her crying. “That’s all.”

“It wasn’t all, Maxie.” The crop landed a second time, and Tara had to swipe her free hand over her face to wipe away her tears. “You said those things to deliberately hurt me.” And Maxie had done a stellar job of it.

“After I talked to John…” Maxie turned her head. Peering at Tara through swollen, tear-stained eyes, she choked out, “I was afraid you’d end up in a bond like your parents. I didn’t want you to get hurt, Tara. You’re so…so good. You deserve to be happy.”

Dropping the crop, Tara took a seat on the couch and pulled Maxie over the arm and into her lap. “Thank you for doing that, Maxie. Thank you for caring so much.” Her tears mixed with Maxie’s as they held each other and cried. “I forgive you.”


	25. Chapter 25

The bar was a dark, gloomy contrast to the bright day outside. Faith blinked and paused just inside the entry to allow her eyes time to adjust. Sunnydale sure wasn’t Boston. There were no themed decorations on the walls or throbbing bass from loud industrial rock music. Instead, the bar was quiet except for the low murmur of conversations. It did have the familiar stench of beer and bodily fluids, though. Hiding her distaste, Faith strode through the nearly deserted scene area for the bar shoved into a far corner.

“Jack and Coke,” she told the bartender.

He looked at her in disbelief. “The last time you showed up, that Brit from the Slayer House threatened to get my liquor license revoked. You want to drink, you do it somewhere else. You want to hook up? The equipment’s free.” 

Faith’s hand was across the bar and tangled in his shirt in a flash. Slayer speed ruled. “I ain’t working for the Brit no more.”

The man behind the counter had Faith by a hundred pounds and a dozen years. He still froze like a mouse in front of a cat.

“You got two choices: the drink or pain.” Faith unleashed the smile she normally reserved for vampires. She gave the bartender fifteen seconds before he reached for the booze. It might actually only have been less before a glass slammed onto the bar in front of her. Releasing his shirt, Faith stepped back and tapped her fingers on the smooth bar top while the bartender poured her drink. “Thanks. Knew you were a bright one.” Since Faith wasn’t looking for trouble - and she had money - she tossed a twenty down. “Line ‘em up.”

One after another, five glasses joined the first on the bar. “Anything else?”

“Nah. I’m good.” More than good. Faith relaxed enough to smile and tack on a polite, “Thanks.” Turning away, she leaned her back against the bar and scanned the play areas. One couple in a far corner. A scattering of single drinkers tucked into the nearly-hidden alcoves at the edge of the floor. Two pairs heading down the back hall to the private rooms.

Not a lot of action. It was too early, damn it. Faith tossed back her first drink, enjoying the burn and the sweet flavor masking the heavier liquor. She should have realized there would be slim pickings during the afternoon. A glance at her watch said there were still a few hours until her dinner with Richard.

“Aren’t you a little young for the hard stuff?” A voice intruded on Faith’s contemplation of time. The woman attached to the voice didn’t look away when Faith glared in her direction. In fact, she smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. Muscles rippled in her arms and chest, casually displayed by a tight leather vest.

It took more than muscles to impress Faith. “You the booze police?” Daring the woman to stop her, she downed the second Jack and Coke. Her head buzzed in response.

“You didn’t answer my question,” the woman stated. Her gaze hardened, pinning Faith in place. “How old are you?”

A frisson of…something tugged at Faith. Straightening, she fought the emotion. Fought a rising need to lower her head and tell the woman, the Dominant, what she wanted to know. She wasn’t some pushover submissive.

Moving in closer, right into Faith’s personal space, the woman continued. “I think you’ve had enough, little girl.”

The pet name stung. Faith started to protest but there was suddenly no air in the room. The temperature in the bar rose until she flushed and began to sweat before immediately chilling to Arctic levels. She sucked in a panicked breath. The woman was too close. _Too close._ She couldn’t breathe. Faith jerked back, banging painfully into the bar.

“Easy.” Expression intent, the woman slid back a step and watched Faith closely. “I won’t hurt you unless you ask. Calm down. Eyes on me. Breathe.” She waited until Faith’s eyes rose, locking onto her. “Good girl. That’s it. Breathe slowly.”

Faith relaxed with each breath she took in time with the Dominant. As the panic faded the pressure inside Faith’s chest and head expanded. The barroom grew a little hazy. It was like Faith floated a couple of inches off the floor.

“You back with me now?” The woman didn’t crowd Faith again. She stood, completely relaxed and in control, a few feet away, patiently waiting for Faith’s answer.

“Yeah.” Faith’s chin dropped an inch. Two. “Back off,” she warned the woman. She wasn’t looking to play. And she would _never_ submit to this woman. All she wanted was a drink. Unfortunately, her warning lacked any bite. It was a mumble, at best. A pathetic whisper of sound, at worst.

“What was that?” Gentle mockery made Faith’s skin burn, yet she didn’t move. “Tell me what you want, little girl. If you really want me to leave you alone, I will.”

No. Yes. Stay. Go. Faith’s mind and body warred. Need mixed with confusion and a tendril of fear.

_“Hope those cuffs aren’t too tight, girlie.” Flushed and sweating, the john tightened the rigid metal handcuff until Faith cried out. She yanked on it anyway, desperate to get away, as the john stepped back and stared at her. “The bitch out front said you knew how to act. She lied. You ain’t gotta clue. You better learn fast.”_

_Faith barely heard him. She writhed and twisted; nothing she did made a difference. The only thing she accomplished was pissing off the john._

_“Lesson Number One, you don’t move unless I tell you. Got it?” Less than a second later his hand crashed into Faith’s cheek. “Yes, Sir! You say ‘yes, Sir,’ when I tell you to do something or ask you a question.”_

“Yes, Ma’am,” Faith answered. The bar and her long ago bedroom overlapped into a waking nightmare. Barely breathing, she tensed, ready to flee or fight. Glasses rattled behind her and Faith jerked in response.

“Easy. Come on, kid. Take it easy.” The woman’s voice went from seductive to soothing. “No one here is going to hurt you.” She kept talking, but the words went over, around, and through Faith. She didn’t hear them. They were a soft buzz in the background as voices from her past echoed in her mind.

_“You like it when they hurt you, don’t you, little slut.” Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling where a blue-gray cloud hovered. “Maybe I should get you one of them bracelet things; ‘cept I’d lose out on the ones wantin’ **you** to do the hurtin.’” Faith’s mother coughed, each exhale rattling in her throat._

Wrenching her mind back to the present, Faith shoved past the woman and ran for the door. She ignored the shout from behind and dodged the bouncer as he moved to intercept her. By the time she hit the parking lot, Faith was at full Slayer speed. Each step took her away from the bar.

She couldn’t outrun the memories, though. They followed her. Taunted her.

_“Somehow we missed her. The Spell isn’t infallible, no matter what the witches say.” Diana looked at Faith like she was gum stuck to the bottom of her high-heeled shoes. “It’s my duty to turn her into a real Slayer; Quentin himself asked me to take her on as a personal favor.”_

_Faith glared at her. She was in the room, damn it. She could hear everything Diana said to the man sitting behind the big desk._

_“You want the full complement of tests?” The man’s accent didn’t match Diana’s. He spoke slowly (to Faith), and the words bled together._

_“Yes. If I’m going to have even a chance of success, I need to know everything. But I don’t want the results sent to the Council. Send them to me, and I’ll decide what to put in her file.”_

Faith skidded to a halt, panting and covered in sweat. The sun beat down on her. The bright, cool day had turned blisteringly hot. Glancing around, Faith realized she’d run all the way through town. Sunset Ridge, shaded by towering trees and riddled with overgrown paths, sat in front of her. Steps unsteady, Faith walked into the wood. Birds chirped occasionally. And rustling all around indicated animals dashing for cover as she invaded their home.

Ignoring it all, Faith skirted the manicured grounds of Talisker House Bed and Breakfast. Eventually, she located the perfect spot. A grouping of tall rocks protected a patch of grass at the very edge of Smuggler’s Bluff. Faith curled up there and watched the waves crash into the beach far below.

***

"Shouldn’t you be going the other direction?” Buffy trotted down the stairs with most of her usual grace intact. There was still a hint of stiffness and extra care as she skipped the final few steps in favor of a single leap. “You’re running in, not out.”

“I decided to break with tradition,” Tara said solemnly. “Predictability is boring, don’t you think?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t let Giles hear you say that. He’ll set you up as a weapons instructor and turn you loose on the advanced ‘what would you use if’ lesson.” Her shudder indicated this was a fate worse than death. “If you ever get the urge to lecture me on how a cereal spoon can be used to kill a vampire, warn me, OK?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re safe, Buffy.” Tara put her hands on her hips and gave Buffy her best Dominant glare. “But I might start on the lecture about only going on patrol when you’re healthy and uninjured.” Her right hand snapped up, forestalling the lie she knew was coming. “Don’t. I’m not stupid. You’re not recovered from whatever happened last night. Do I have to tell Mr. Giles?” It was a bluff. Not to mention Giles had to be aware that Buffy wasn’t a hundred percent.

“Oooh! Scary Domme Face.” Raising her arms over her head, Buffy stretched. She was good, but not good enough to keep Tara from noticing the way the skin next to her eyes tightened. Buffy was still in pain. “Save that for your bondmate, Lady Tara. I’m immune – and I’m fine. Besides, I won’t have to patrol alone for long. Watcher Wes will have a brand new Junior Slayer here to help me in a couple of days.”

Tara wasn’t backing down. “Can you wait until after my class? I can go with you.”

“No can do, Tara. Giles has completed his pre-patrol briefing. I’m briefed and chock full of informational goodness. Now it’s time to go forth and kill undead things.” Buffy didn’t move away, though. Instead, she gave Tara an intense once-over. “But I could be convinced to give the vamps and demons a short break if you need to talk. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

As much as Tara liked Buffy, she wasn’t ready to share her afternoon. She mimicked Buffy’s stretch. “I’m fine,” she said and dared Buffy to call her on the lie.

“That’s not funny.” Buffy pouted for a minute. “I used to think you were nice.”

“Hi, Pot. I’m Kettle,” Tara said softly. “And I’m not always nice. I _am_ a Dominant, after all. Sometimes that means giving a...sub what they need and not what they think they want.” She wasn’t going to back down. Buffy was not up to patrol. “You want to go out alone. But what do you really need?”  
  
Buffy lost her smile. In fact, if Tara hadn’t been prepared for her reaction, she might have actually stepped back at the cold, lethal glare she received. “You think I need your permission?”   
  
The atmosphere in the foyer had turned on a dime. Buffy and Tara were inches apart. “That isn’t what I said, sweetie.” Tara wasn’t looking for a Dominant showdown. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. I know you have to go out.” With Faith gone, there were no other Slayers in Sunnydale. “Can you at least wait until after my class? I’d be happy to go with you.”  
  
“I can go with her, Tara.” Xander interrupted their standoff from the living room entry. “If that’s alright with you, Buffy?”

Buffy was about to refuse. “Xan, we talked about this.”

It must be something in the air. Buffy really had a hang up with taking someone on patrol. Tara deftly stepped in and interrupted. “Oh, thank you, Xander. I’ve never been on patrol. Magic is only helpful if you’re not too busy running – and gasping – to chant a spell. Janna said you were a big part of the team. You’ll do Buffy more good.” So there, she silently dared Buffy. Turning her head slightly, she winked at Xander and enjoyed his quickly-smothered grin.

“Buffy?” he asked. Tara wanted to smack him; he was ruining her perfect setup. But she understood his reasoning. Buffy was his Dominant, and they’d already nearly ruined their relationship over his being injured on a patrol.

Or was he? Buffy’s resolute expression had faltered. Sidestepping Tara, she walked over and kissed him softly. “I don’t want you to get hurt again, Xan.”

“I know.” Xander raised his hand, stopping just short of touching Buffy’s cheek. His fingers hovered between them. “But I don’t understand. I got hurt once, because I decided to be stupid and manly and tackle a vampire on my own. I’m sorry, Buffy. I was sorry then. It’s different now. I want to patrol with you again, like I used to with you and Willow. I promise I’ll hide behind you when the vamps come out. And you know I’m really good at running away.”

Unwilling to interrupt or intrude further, Tara leaned against the staircase and waited for Buffy to admit Xander was right. “What if something happens?”

So much for that. Tara stifled a sigh at Buffy’s stubborn response.

Luckily, Xander was persistent. “Buffy, if I let you collar me, are you going to lock me up in the house and never let me out? I love you. I’m _yours_.” There was no hint of goofy Xander as he continued. “I’m not helpless, though. You know that. You’ve taught me everything I know about self-defense and fighting. You helped me whittle my first stake. Let me go with you. Let me be the guy you fell in love with before the bond got in the way.”

He was so sweet. Tara’s eyes misted and she held her breath against a sniff.

“I do love you,” Buffy said quietly. “I’m also an idiot, aren’t I?”

Proving he was smart as well as sweet, Xander didn’t say anything. He simply stood and calmly waited for Buffy to come to her senses.

“Fine.” Tara figured Buffy wasn’t as put out as she sounded. Not if Buffy’s tiny grin was any indication. “We need to get you some stakes before we go.” Taking Xander’s hand, Buffy pulled him toward the stairs. “Happy now?” she asked Tara with a watered-down glare.

To respond or not to respond? Tara considered the wisdom of silent, stoic victory for less than a heartbeat. “Yes.” Smiling sunnily, she added, “So are you.” Buffy’s mock made Tara laugh. “Be safe, both of you. And wish me luck. I’m facing something almost as scary as demons: my first Magic 101 class.”

“Watch out for Noreen,” Xander called out as he and Buffy climbed the stairs. “She started a fire last week.”

A fire. In a beginning magic class. What had Tara gotten herself into? Steeling herself for magical mayhem, she strode through the House and into the back yard. New faces populated the tables and chairs on the patio. Disappointment struck Tara hard and fast. Faith wasn’t there; wouldn’t be there to share a table and peace and quiet after a long day.

“Hey, Tara, right? I’m Amy. You probably don’t remember.” An auburn-haired young woman approached and held out her hand. “Althenea commandeered you before we had a chance to talk. I was there with…”

“Michael. Of course I remember.” Tara shook Amy’s hand. “Are you here for the class? The discussion I interrupted wasn’t beginner level. Anything by Aldis is dense.” She smirked. “And you were holding your own against Althenea.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Please. The old biddy had us on the run. I was _so_ glad Janna dragged you over to say hello.”

“Well, you looked fine to me,” Tara assured her. She didn’t mention she’d been so nervous when Janna had done the introductions she hadn’t paid much attention to Amy. Althenea had scared her to death. “Come on. Let’s go on to class. I’ll grill you more later.”


	26. Chapter 26

Tapping hesitantly on the door, Faith waited for Richard to look up. His desk was covered in paper and piles of file folders. It reminded her of Giles’ desk every evening when she’d come in for pre-patrol briefings. Giles had always been buried in paperwork: Watchers’ Diary entries, patrol after action reports, and training schedules.

She scowled. This wasn’t at all like her time with the Council. This was completely different.  
  
“Be careful, Faith. Your face might freeze like that,” Richard teased. He imitated her expression for a second before smiling. “Come on in and close the door, please. I sent everyone home already but you never know who’s lurking out there ready to interrupt us again.” As Faith made a show of closing - and locking - the door, he continued. “I’ve ordered dinner for us. It should be here soon. The best pizza in Sunnydale. For now, though...” He broke off suddenly and peered at her. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” Faith lied quickly. She sauntered across the room and sat in the same chair as earlier. “What’s this job you got for me? I’m ready for action.” If it didn’t involve beating up on vampires and demons, otherwise known as vampire therapy, she’d have to go hunting later.   
  
Richard wasn’t happy with her response. His eyes turned cold for a second, and Faith tensed. “I expect a great deal from you, Faith. Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure. At the top of the list is honesty. Don’t ever lie to me.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.” Faith huddled in the chair, eyes on the worn carpet next to her feet. Her face and neck felt hot. “I’m sorry. I just...ya’ know, I didn’t want to bother you,” she babbled. “You got important things to worry about.” Richard was mad at her. Faith had never cared how other people felt about her actions before. But she hated the way he was looking at her, as if he didn’t want to know her anymore. As if she’d disappointed him. Her stomach cramped and she shrank farther into the chair.  
  
“There is nothing more important than you, Faith.” Richard came around the desk and sat next to her. Gripping Faith’s hand, he waited until she glanced uneasily up at him. “You aren’t just an employee. I care about you, about what happens to you,” he told her earnestly. “It would kill me if anything happened to you. Please don’t shut me out or hide things from me.”  
  
Faith stared into his eyes. He never looked away. He wasn’t lying; people who lied never met your eyes like that. Richard really cared about her. The burn of embarrassment shifted to a warm glow-y feeling in her chest. “I won’t do it again, Sir. I really am sorry.” It was _Faith_ who dropped her eyes. She couldn’t stand to see his reaction as she admitted, “Kinda started thinking about Boston this afternoon, before the whole Slayer thing. Not the best memories, that’s all.”  
  
“Poor Faith. You’ve been through so much.” Richard squeezed her hand. “How about I give you something better to think about? Something right up your alley?”  
  
That sounded perfect. “Like what?” Faith asked.   
  
“Like hunting a demon for me.” Releasing Faith’s hand, he leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of the desk. “When I was searching through Allan’s things, I found a reference to a demon he did business with. This demon has a collection of very old books, the Books of Ascension. And Allan was going to buy them, use whatever was in those books to kill me and take over Sunnydale. I want you to get them, Faith, before that demon finds someone else with ideas of conquest.”

“No problem, Boss.” Faith was a loser at many things in life. Stealing some books from a demon wasn’t one of them. “You got a name for the demon?”

“The emails were signed by a Skyler. The demon? Or another human minion like Allan? I say demon. The whole thing sounds too shady for most humans.” Richard shrugged – then jumped up when someone knocked at the door. “Hold that thought, Faith.” Bounding across the room, he grabbed a stack of pizza boxes from the security guard in the hallway and closed the door again. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got one of everything. Whatever we don’t eat tonight will make a perfect late night snack for my favorite Slayer. I’m sure you’ll be hungry after tracking down that pesky demon with my books.”

***

“Don’t push so hard.” Tara tilted her head and Felt the energy Noreen had gathered. “The size of the object you move doesn’t matter. A grain of sand weighs the same as an anvil to the mind.”

_“If you keep straining like that, sweetheart, you’ll break something.” Eyes twinkling, Tara’s mother perched on the battered sofa in one corner of the attic. “You don’t have to be Arnold Schwarzenegger. A grain of sand weighs the same as an anvil to the mind. If you’ve Centered yourself correctly…”_

“…root yourself to the Earth and extend the energy toward the box. Don’t push. The magic will do the work for you,” Tara continued, hearing her mother echo the same advice in her memories. She had been just like Noreen at one point. Well, Tara had never set anything accidentally on fire, but she’d wanted to do everything right the first time.

Sweat beaded Noreen’s face and she trembled with effort. Letting her eyes droop, Tara peered at the other witch’s magic with her Inner Sight. Noreen had cut back on the wall of power she’d gathered. The tendril she extended toward the box several feet away was still too large but wouldn’t turn the cardboard into tiny bits of confetti.

With a nod, Tara moved away. She checked on every student, making mental notes of successes and opportunities. Concepts for the next class. Three of the eight witches were far beyond the “beginner” level. Not surprisingly, Amy was the best of the three. And Noreen, fiery mistakes and all, wasn’t far behind. “One last thing before we end the session. Make sure you properly ground any remaining energy.”

A few of the learners seemed surprised at the reminder; yet everyone carefully returned the unused power to the Earth. With a pleased smile, Tara took down the Warding around the room and dismissed the class.

“Not bad for your first night with the Council.” Janna had monitored the class from the sidelines. Monitored. She’d rolled her eyes when she’d explained to Tara that the Council wanted to make sure Melody hadn’t made a mistake about Tara’s skills.

“I feel like I’ve single-handedly raised a mountain.” Although she had done very little magic, Tara was exhausted. She wanted to sink to the floor and sleep for a week.

Janna threw her head back and laughed. “Really? Didn’t you just teach an entire class of newbies that mental lifting doesn’t take muscles?”

Of course, Janna had to remember that. “I lied shamelessly,” Tara mumbled. “Magical lifting takes _tons_ of magical muscles – and mine are weak and flabby.” Glowering at Janna’s continued laughter, she sighed and gave up. “Fine. Throw my own words back at me. I just never realized how hard it was to keep eight people all focused on the same thing. All the different personalities and ability levels. Passing the Trial wasn’t as difficult.”

Linking their arms, Janna pulled her out of the Workroom and locked the door. “I hate to do this to you since you’re already so tired. Will says Buffy’s back and has something new for us to research. I’m heading to the Library to help. Are you up to joining us?”

“If I fall asleep, promise not to put my hand in a glass of water.” Stifling a yawn and thinking longingly of her comfortable bed, Tara followed Janna into the House and up to the third floor. It had to be her imagination, but Tara thought she smelled Faith’s distinctive scent of leather and sweat. Unfortunately, Faith wasn’t lounging in a chair or sprawled on the expensive Turkish rug in the massive Library.

“Good evening,” Giles greeted them from the top of a rolling ladder. He held a large pile of books which he carefully carried down to the floor. “Although Buffy has already briefed me on her latest patrol, I have asked her to share it with the full group. She and Joyce should be here shortly.” He flashed a quirky smile, the same one he’d given Tara the night of the Social. “I long ago learned that ignoring her need to eat large quantities of food at the end of a patrol was not in anyone’s best interest. Please, make yourself comfortable, my dear, and we shall soon be started.”

“He meant to say, ‘sit down, Buffy will be back in a minute,’” Willow translated. “It always takes him a long time to get to the point.” She curled up against Janna’s legs when her bondmate took the same chair Faith had occupied for her study session with Tara.

The chair, and the way Willow nuzzled into Janna, hurt. Tara rubbed at her chest, where the pain emanated. “I understood Mr. Giles perfectly,” she defended Giles – and winked at Willow to let her know it was not a rebuke.

“Thank you.” Accent more clipped than before, Giles glowered playfully at Willow. “This lot does not appreciate the true Queen’s English.” With a disdainful sniff, he set the books down on the coffee table in the center of the room.

“We may not talk right, but we eat well,” Buffy announced from the door. She breezed in, arms full of snack chip bags. Xander and Joyce followed with trays of drinks and other finger foods. “Welcome to your first research party, Tara. Get ready for excitement like you’ve never known and will never want to go through again.”

Xander snickered. “She’s not wrong. I’ve been doing this for two years, and it never gets any better.”

“And yet you’re still here, aren’t you?” Willow stuck her tongue out at him.

“Good Lord. Children, please. I would prefer Tara _not_ run away on her first official night with us,” Giles snapped.

“Sorry, Giles,” Willow, Xander, and Buffy responded in stereo.

Tara hid a grin at Giles’ pained sigh. He was so funny, and Buffy and her friends played on his emotions perfectly. “Before I grow any older, would you please tell everyone what you found this evening?”

“Sure, Giles.” Buffy dropped onto the love seat, and Xander (of course) took the spot right next to her. There might have been space to push a piece of paper between them. “I’d cleared a nest out of the Smithson crypt over in Restfield when this demon pops out from behind a tombstone. Just as I was about to behead him, he squeals and holds up his hand. Says he’s been looking for me.”

Even though it was her first night researching, Tara was fairly certain that wasn’t normal.

“What did he look like, Buffy? I mean, did you recognize him?” Willow was already reaching for one of the books Giles had put on the table.

“It looked like a demon, Will. A horny demon.” Buffy covered her face with both hands as Xander and Willow both hooted with laughter. Tara pressed her lips together to avoid joining in. “I meant the demon had horns on his head and a really bad beard,” she grumbled when she finally reemerged from her hands. “He wanted to sell me some books.”

“He was an encyclopedia salesman?” Joyce asked. “I thought they stopped making those when the Internet grew so popular.”

“Yes, Mom. That’s it. He wanted to sell me the complete A to Z collection from 1970. It was a special disco edition.” Buffy threw up her hands. “Everyone’s a comedian. If you’d let me finish, maybe you wouldn’t have to ask so many questions.” Buffy’s narrow-eyed look dared anyone to comment.

They didn’t.

“He said he’d give something called the Books of Ascension to me for five thousand dollars,” Buffy finished. “

“That’s a lot of money for some books.” Willow opened the tome she’d taken and began flicking through the yellowed pages. “Ascension. It sounds familiar; I just can’t remember from where.”

Reaching across the table, Tara grabbed a book, too. She didn’t know how these research gatherings worked. It was a fair bet, though, that hunting through the books was a big part of the process. Of course, there was no table of contents or index. Tara rubbed her eyes. No wonder Faith and Buffy ended up in brawls over the books. Tara gave serious thought to tackling Janna and going a few rounds to avoid reading each and every page.

“The price tag wasn’t the weirdest part of the conversation,” Buffy added as Tara resignedly started researching. “I mean, demons selling books isn’t an every-night thing. But a demon selling books that he says the Mayor might want?”

Tara lost all interest in searching for references to the Ascension.

“Maybe he meant Allan Finch. He _was_ working with Balthazar.” Janna stroked her hand through Willow’s hair, tickling the tips of her ears every so often and grinning when Willow jerked away and glared. “Could the books have something to do Balthazar’s plan to use the amulet?”

“I still have a hook into the City Hall mainframe,” Willow said. “Want me to dig around? It won’t be hard to find those emails the Mayor said he had. That might give us more information.”

Janna’s stroking hand lifted in order to tap Willow firmly on the back of the head. “And land you in a federal prison for computer hacking.”

“We…we could ask Faith?” Tara flinched when everyone looked at her. She hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. “I mean, she works for the Mayor. She’d have plenty of opportunity to find out about the emails. And the books, too.”

“Normally, Tara, that would be a very shrewd maneuver. I do not believe that Faith would welcome any overtures at this time. Her departure was less than amicable,” Giles told her quietly. “And I believe, because of what has happened since Faith’s arrive in Sunnydale, her loyalties are completely with the Mayor.”

What Giles said made sense. Tara slumped back in her chair. “Right. I’m s-sorry.”

“ _Doamnă,_ I don’t think we have any choice.” Willow got up on her knees and placed her hands pleadingly on Janna’s knees. “I promise I won’t leave anything for the Mayor or his staff to find. City Hall isn’t big on cyber security. They never noticed when I hacked in the first time. I’ll be in and out in no time.”

Everyone pretended to be hard at work researching while Janna and Willow squared off. Tara flicked blindly through the book on her lap. They had to have answers. They had to know how the demon and the books were connected to the Mayor. What if there was something dangerous in those books? If the Mayor got the books, would that put _Faith_ in danger? Tara reached for her bondlink again and nearly screamed when it remained blocked.

Tara was so intent on the bond she jumped when Willow stood up and grabbed her laptop from a backpack near the door. “Give me a few minutes to get in.” Willow was flushed and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“We will concentrate on old-fashioned research while you begin, Willow.” Giles picked up a new book and opened it. Then he waited until the rest of the group followed suit.

Tara lost track of the different names of demons, rituals, and apocalyptic events she viewed in book after book. Several times, she started to nod off – and then someone would shift or drop a book and she snapped awake.

Finally, when Tara was about to apologize and leave, Willow announced, “I’ve got something.” She didn’t continue, though. She merely stared at the laptop in silence.

“Do I need to encourage you to speak up, _dragă_?” Janna asked.

“No!” Willow immediately turned her attention back to the waiting group. “I just…it doesn’t make any sense, Janna. I found the emails. Lots of emails. Most of them between Deputy Mayor Finch and a vampire named Vincent. Plans to use the amulet to bring Balthazar back to full power. I guess he’s been a little less than he wanted since he supposedly died.”

The flood of information was too quick for Tara. She struggled to make sense of what Willow had found and connect it to the Books of Ascension.

“Will,” Buffy interrupted. “Cliffs Notes, please.”

Tara wanted to hug her when Willow scowled and then acquiesced. “Anyway, I found the emails. There was only one reference to the Books of Ascension. Nothing about what they do or why the Mayor would want them.”

“So we have nothing.” Tara resisted the urge to cry and pulled another book from the table. The tall stack had shrunk to just a few final tomes. They were nearly out of places to find answers. Maybe they’d have to try Faith, after all. At least it would give her a reason to ask Faith out on a date.

“Oh, no. I do have something,” Willow disagreed. “Just not anything about the Books. When I started reading the emails, I thought there was something funny about them. I checked the access and server logs. Those emails weren’t written by Deputy Mayor Finch. In fact, they weren’t even created until after he died.”


	27. Chapter 27

“I really hate to ask ya’ again,” Faith said with absolutely no sincerity. She’d ask the same question all night if that’s what it took. The vampire, though, might not find it so acceptable. Slamming his head into the tombstone, Faith waited until he’d spit more blood. “Where do I find the demon Skyler?”  
  
His eyes burned with hatred. “I don’t know...”  
  
It was apparently difficult to lie when your face was pressed into stone. Faith grinned. The Mayor had been right. This job was fucking perfect for her. This was the third vampire she’d questioned tonight. So far, she had zero answers and two piles of dust. A third pile seemed likely. Few vampires were willing to take her brand of punishment to protect another demon. This vamp was clueless. In fact, why wait to finish him off? He wasn’t going to give her what she needed.   
  
Faith staked the vampire and dusted off her hands. “Where to next?” Her patrol loop had already covered Restfield, Shady Acres, and Wilkinson Memorial cemeteries. Pushing out with her senses, she hunted for more informants. Nothing. Scowling, Faith pushed farther. Damn it. Where were all the vamps?

It had to be Buffy’s fault. She always patrolled early; she’d probably swept the cemeteries while Faith had been at dinner with the Mayor. Lucky for Faith, Buffy was the only other Slayer in town right now. She couldn’t patrol everywhere. If Buffy had been in the cemeteries, she _hadn’t_ been in the warehouse district.

That was Faith’s next stop. More options there anyway. Pocketing her stake, Faith jogged through town. The few people brave enough to be on the streets gaped at her, but she ignored them. Stupid townies. She wasn’t even using half of her enhanced speed. Besides, they should be used to Slayers. Thanks to the Hellmouth, Sunnydale was hip-deep in demons and vampires. That meant Slayers.

To give them a thrill, Faith picked up her pace until she cleared downtown. She didn’t want to wear herself out. There were vampires to dust and books to find. It wasn’t until she crossed the railroad tracks that she realized where she was. The warehouse district. Her footsteps slowed.

This was where it had happened.

This was where she’d killed Finch.

_“Oh my God, Faith. He’s human!”_

_Warm, sticky liquid coated Faith’s hands. No. Not liquid. Blood. She stared as it poured from the man’s chest. The man. The man with her stake in his chest._

The dark street wavered; gray dots floated in Faith’s vision.

No, damn it. This wasn’t happening. Finch was dead because he had been working with those Eliminati vampires. Forcing the memories back, Faith stumbled forward a few steps until her legs stopped shaking. She had work to do.

Finding vampires here was easy. Faith bypassed the alley where she and Buffy had fought the Eliminati. If she wanted to find lots of vamps as well as information, she had to go deeper into the warren of buildings. Faith needed to make a visit to Willy’s. The demon bar was an unbelievable dive at the very edge of the warehouse district. Faith crept up on the unmarked entrance. It wouldn’t do to scare away her best shot at answers. It was wasted effort. There were no patrons loitering in the alley.

That was no problem. She’d find plenty of vampires inside. Faith rushed the corrugated metal door. It came off its hinges with a resounding boom. Framed in the doorway, Faith smirked at the stunned demons huddled over their drinks at the bar or the scattering of tables in the dimly lit room. “Sorry about that,” she announced.

Her words triggered an exodus. Tables and glasses hit the ground as the bar’s patrons scrambled to safety through the various boltholes littering the room. Faith caught and staked a few. She didn’t give chase, however. Her real target hadn’t moved from his position behind the bar. Willy. A skinny, weasel-y vampire who knew everything about everyone, human _and_ demon, in Sunnydale.

“Slayer,” he muttered. Scanning the now-empty bar, he glared at her. “You’re bad for business.”

“’Least I didn’t kill too many this time,” Faith responded, twirling a stake in her right hand. “Might get ‘em to come back later. If you’re still here and not in a pile on the floor.” Willy was undead and already pale. The only sign her threat had bothered him was his small, involuntary step away from the bar. “You run, I’ll have to catch you. It won’t go well.”

“What do you want?” Willy’s fangs were out now. If he wasn’t such a coward, Faith thought, he’d have come across the bar at her.

Faith didn’t answer right away. It was more fun to lean against the bar and watch Willy squirm. Seconds passed. Minutes. The stake, worn smooth with use, slid easily across her palms. Faith tossed it from hand to hand; Willy’s yellow eyes tracked its movement. “I’m lookin’ for a demon,” she finally said. “Skyler.”

Willy’s eyes flickered away. “Never heard of him.”

The stake flew from Faith’s hands, nicking Willy’s neck before shattering a bottle of whiskey on the shelf behind the bar. “Next time, I’m throwin’ you.” God, this was fun. Faith had to fight a grin. It wouldn’t fit the image she needed right now. “How much does it cost to stock this place?”

A growl snuck past Willy’s clenched teeth.

“Skyler,” Faith reminded him. “You cough up where I can find him, I leave you and the bar in one piece. You don’t…” Reaching out, she grabbed his shirt and yanked until he lay across the bar. “Your choice.”

“I don’t know.” Faith pulled harder, lifting him off the bar. “Not for sure! I swear. I heard something about an abandoned house across the tracks. Not far from here, across from Two Pines Cemetery,” Willy babbled.

“Always nice doin’ business with ya’, Willy.” Grunting with effort, Faith chucked Willy backward – right into the shelf of liquor bottles. Glass and liquid rained down. “I hate to have to ask twice. Got it?”

Not waiting for a response, Faith took off. There were few houses near Two Pines. Only a few blocks from the warehouse district, it held more empty and overgrown lots than residences. She’d have Skyler and his books ready for the Mayor in no time.

Ten minutes later, Faith crouched outside the only house near the cemetery that set off her Slayer senses. Apparently, Skyler was a home body. That worked for Faith. With slow, careful strides, she crept along the side of the house. A hint of light leaked beneath the tightly closed shutters. Music played softly from inside. This was it. Unlike with Willy’s, Faith didn’t kick in the door. She didn’t know the layout of the house or any possible escape routes. She needed the demon to stay completely unaware of her presence until she had him dead to rights.

Faith continued past the window. There had to be another way in. Not the front door. Too out in the open. There was a second window at the back of the house. No lights. No sounds from inside. And no way for anyone to see her break in. Faith took off her jacket and wrapped it tightly around her right arm, all the way to her shoulder. A quick jab with her jacket-covered elbow broke pane. She froze, waiting for movement in the house.

There was none. Clearing the jagged shards from the window frame, Faith carefully climbed over the sill. She followed the sounds of music through a dusty living room cluttered with furniture and down a narrow hallway. The light was easier to see here. It shone beneath a closed door on the left. Faith put her jacket back on and tried the doorknob. It turned easily, with no sound, and Faith quickly stepped inside.

The ugly, horned demon sitting in a faded recliner never looked up from the book in his lap. Faith scanned the room. It was filled with books. On the floor, the bed, on the one bookshelf in the corner. Skyler was a hoarder. “Hey,” she said.

Skyler was out of the chair like he’d been shot from a cannon. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Faith.” Faith kept it simple. She wasn’t here to make friends. “Hear you got some books for sale? The…” Damn. What were they called? Faith hadn’t paid much attention to the Mayor’s explanation. “The Asset? Uh. The Ascending?”

Examining her closely, Skyler slowly relaxed. “The Books of Ascension. Why didn’t the other girl come? The one I talked to tonight in Restfield?”

The other girl. Only one other girl hung out in cemeteries after dark. “Buffy?”

“That’s the one.” Skyler moved toward the bed and a pile of books there. “But I guess there would be more than one of you Slayers in town. Do you have the money?”

Funny kind of demon to be expecting her to pay for the books. “How much again? B…Buffy was kinda vague about that part.” While Skyler fussed with the books on the bed, she moved closer to him and reached for the handle of the dagger the Mayor had given her.

“Five thousand.” Skyler tucked five books into a satchel and turned – right into the Faith’s knife. His eyes sought Faith’s and his hands clutched at her jacket before he fell to the floor.

***

Willow’s comment exploded like a bomb dropped into the conversation.

Everyone wanted clarification. Tara listened to their voices jumble together, demanding an explanation. How could that happen? Who had done it? _Why_ had they done it? The questions went on and on, getting louder with each repetition.

“Enough!” Finally, Giles called them all to order. “We are accomplishing nothing. Please! Everyone sit down and allow Willow to continue.”

There was some grumbling, especially from Xander and Buffy, but they sat back down on the couch.

“The emails were created the morning after Faith killed Deputy Mayor Finch. The user had to log into Finch’s computer before being able to access his email. The user name was rwilkins3.” Willow’s hand snapped up as she anticipated another slew of questions.

Tara didn’t care about any of it anymore. The Mayor had written those emails. That meant Allan Finch hadn’t been working with the vampires Buffy and Faith had fought. He’d lied to Mr. Giles and to Faith. And now Faith worked for him. Tara didn’t need to know the rest of the details. She knew enough. She knew she had to tell Faith and get her away from the Mayor.

Willow and the research crew could figure the rest of the mystery out.

“Tara?” Joyce put a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, let’s step out in the hall for a minute. Come on.” The words were very soft. The tone was not. Joyce wasn’t taking no for an answer.

That didn’t meant Tara wasn’t going to try to resist the command. Shaking her head, she turned her attention toward Willow – even as her mind continued to race.

“Tara and I are going to grab refills. It looks like it might be a very late night, and I could use some coffee. Tea for you, Rupert? Janna?” Joyce was _evil_. And she’d clearly won this round. Tara stood as Joyce took drink and food orders. “We’ll be back in a bit. Don’t save the world without us.” With one hand at the small of Tara’s back, she ensured Tara preceded her into the hallway and closed the Library door behind them. 

“Why d-did you want me to c-come with you?” Tara demanded.

Joyce started down the stairs, still steering Tara along. “Honey, you ran out of the house so fast this morning, I didn’t have a chance to talk to you. And if anybody had been watching you instead of shouting at poor Willow, they would have seen what I did. Every time someone mentions Faith or the Mayor, you are ready to charge to the rescue. It’s been a really long time since Hank and I bonded. I haven’t forgotten those feelings, though. The crippling need to protect – using whatever means necessary – my submissive. Last night, you hit Dominant mode in my kitchen. And I’m betting you were close to the same in the Library. Who are you protecting, honey?”

Her eyes… Goddess, they were so kind, so caring. Joyce wasn’t demanding an answer. She didn’t have to. Tara was certain Joyce had figured everything out the previous night when Tara had tipped her hand. “Faith,” she choked out. Then, like magic, some of the pressure in her chest eased. Simply saying the name out loud, finally being able to _tell_ someone other than Maxie and Trish was a relief.

“Congratulations, Tara.” Joyce appeared serious; Tara checked. She rarely read auras. It was too invasive if the other person didn’t know she could do it. But this was a special occasion. “Let’s go get those drinks and the food or Buffy will follow us. That girl is ruled by her stomach.” She started down the stairs. “You aren’t having an easy time of it, are you?”

The rapid changes in topic had Tara off-balance. However, Joyce’s question was easy to answer. “No.” Tara’s mother would have been appalled at her curt response.

“According to Buffy, you’re fairly new to town. This is your first official day with the Council. And you’ve bonded,” again, Joyce peered intently at Tara, “with Sunnydale’s troubled Slayer.”

Protectiveness swelled until Tara shook with a need to tell Joyce to shut up.

“She’s a wonderful person, Tara. I really like, Faith. But I think she’s horribly unhappy,” Joyce continued as they walked through the living room toward the kitchen. “I think that’s what’s driving her to do all those crazy things.”

Still riding a wave of Dominance, Tara bit back a protest. The things Faith did weren’t crazy. Tara didn’t say anything because she wasn’t sure how else to describe Faith’s actions. There had to be a reason, a _good_ reason, though. Tara had witnessed the aftermath of Faith’s recent actions, had felt Faith’s pain and rage and fear. Here was Tara’s chance to find answers, from someone who appeared to care about Faith as a person. Who saw more than a rebellious and disobedient Slayer. “Our bond isn’t complete,” Tara admitted. “Faith doesn’t even know it exists. And I don’t know enough to understand what’s affecting the bond. You do. You know it all. Will you tell me?”

There. She’d done it. Tara wanted to stick her mental tongue out at Althenea. She’d let yet another person into her life and problems.

“I’ll tell you what I can, honey. Rupert and Buffy would have all the details. There are some pieces of the puzzle you’ll have to get from them.” Joyce opened the refrigerator and pulled out several soda bottles. “Even though I help with the research, I’m very much a junior member of the team.”

“I don’t care,” Tara said softly. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to admit her bond to Buffy or Giles.

Pouring the drinks into clean glasses, Joyce got started. “Faith’s only been in Sunnydale since October. But she’s been in trouble almost from Day One. Nothing too terrible. I mean, she’s a teenager. Trouble is part of the age range.”

“Then why does everyone,” and by everyone, Tara meant the Council, “think Faith is so bad?”

Joyce seemed to understand Tara’s point perfectly. “Because the Council is made up of crusty old men who think Slayers are pawns in their chess game with the demon world. And pawns aren’t supposed to ask questions, have any personal issues, or do anything that isn’t in their stupid Slayer Handbook.”

“And Faith does all those things,” Tara said with absolute certainty.

“Exactly. As far as I know, the worst thing she’s ever done was sneak out at night and visit one of the local bars. And who _hasn’t_ done that?” Joyce laughed. “I used my sister’s ID so often even _I_ started to believe I was old enough to party the night away. But the Council doesn’t see it that way. Nor are they willing to overlook the truancy.”

It really didn’t seem like much of a problem. As Joyce said, nothing a normal teenager wouldn’t do. “What about before she got to Sunnydale?” There had to be something, and Tara wasn’t going to stop until she found it.

“I don’t know. I don’t think even Buffy knows that part of it.” Joyce hesitated for a second, as if questioning whether to continue.

“Mrs. Summers?” Tara prodded. She needed to know everything. Joyce had come too far to stop now.

All of the drinks and snacks were ready. Joyce fussed with them for a long minute. “Faith must have been in trouble with the Council before she came to Sunnydale. Buffy’s never given me any details, but I know she and Rupert have often run interference with the Council when Faith has done something wrong.”

“They _beat_ her,” Tara snapped. “Beat her so badly she couldn’t walk. I was there. I saw her afterward.” These people were out of their minds. How was that kind of punishment running “interference”?

“Stop being Faith’s bondmate and start thinking like a Dominant!” Mother Joyce morphed into Lady Joyce so quickly Tara took an unplanned step backward in shock. “Faith broke the rules. She isn’t bonded; at least, the Council doesn’t know she is. There isn’t anyone to step in and make the bastards think past their rule book. Giles and Buffy covered up what they could.”

The implication was clear. They couldn’t cover everything. If Faith pushed too hard, broke one rule too many, the Council would find out. That’s what Tara had witnessed the day she’d met with Althenea. Not even a group of stuffed shirt Council members sentenced someone to the kind of brutal judicial punishment that Tara suspected Faith had endured without there being multiple other violations in the past.

Now Tara understood Joyce puzzle reference. Joyce only knew what she’d seen from Faith or the little things Buffy let slip. If Tara wanted the full story, wanted all of Faith’s troubled past, she had to go to the only people who knew all the details.

Tara would have to go to Giles and Buffy.


	28. Chapter 28

Hitching the satchel strap farther up on her shoulder, Faith waved to Richard’s secretary before entering his office. It felt more natural today. Faith wasn’t afraid she’d interrupt something important. Not now. Not with the Books of Ascension bouncing against her left hip. “Mornin’, Boss.” 

Richard glanced up from the paperwork on his desk. “Aren’t you in a chipper mood today? Did you have too much caffeine with your breakfast? That stuff is bad for you.”

Faith endured his lecture, warmth suffusing her face at his caring. “No caffeine, I promise.” She didn’t mention she hadn’t had breakfast. She didn’t _really_ want him to lecture her about that, too. “Just wanted to report in on the Books. I found your demon.”

“Excellent!” Leaning back in his chair, Richard placed his hands behind his head and propped his feet on his desk. “How much is it going to cost me? I can’t imagine this demon just gave them to you as a belated Christmas gift.”

“Well…” Faith drew out the word – then couldn’t hold out any longer. She wanted to see his face when he saw the Books. The satchel landed on his desk with a thump. “Merry Christmas, Sir.” No matter how hard she tried, Faith couldn’t keep a grin of anticipation off her face.

Eyes narrowing, Richard sat up and opened the bag. “My Books!” Was it Faith’s imagination, or did his hands tremble slightly as he pulled the first book reverently out of the bag? “You wonderful girl. Do you have any idea what this means to me?”

“It wasn’t much,” Faith said softly. She felt suddenly light. As if some weight had dropped from her shoulders. Everything in the room appeared brighter. Sharper.

“Not much?” Richard set the book down carefully and then came around the desk. “Don’t you ever say that again, Faith. Do you hear me?” He gripped her chin tightly, forcing her to look up at him. “You did something no one else could do. I sent you out to find information, Faith. Just information. And what did you do? You found the demon and convinced him to give me the Books.”

That wasn’t right. The lightness drained away, replaced with liquid lead. Guilt dragged at Faith. “I killed him.”

The fingers gentled. “My dear Faith.” Richard smiled, Faith’s favorite goofy smile. “How many demons have you killed as a Slayer? Fifty? One hundred? More? This Skyler, he was worse than those other demons. He was working with Allan.”

The name was unexpected, and Faith flinched.

“He was working with Allan,” Richard repeated. “They were trying to kill me, remember? Why would you think I’d be upset that you had to get rid of him?”

“I don’t know.” Now that he mentioned it, Faith wondered the same thing. She was a Slayer. Leaving the Council didn’t mean she couldn’t kill vampires and demons any more. She sure as Hell didn’t feel bad about staking the vampires she’d interrogated. “I...” Faith swallowed as the answer hit her. She didn’t want to disappoint him. And what she did, how she felt about it - what if the Mayor didn’t really understand. “I killed him. The demon. I didn’t have to. I coulda just taken the books and left him there.” She’d killed him because she wanted to. Without even thinking about other options.  
  
Tilting his head, Richard watched Faith. Watched her so closely she squirmed against his grip. It was as if he could see right into her mind. “What would have happened if you left Skyler alive? Would he have been happy you took my Books without paying him? Or that you had the books at all?”  
  
“No,” Faith answered immediately. Of course, he wouldn’t have been happy about that.   
  
“Exactly. Skyler was a threat, Faith. To me and to this city. You protected us both. You did nothing wrong. You did a good job, Faith,” Richard assured her. “Sometimes, you have to put your morals aside to get the job done. Remember that, Faith.”  
  
His reassurance helped. Faith took a deep breath. “Yes, Sir.” She wouldn’t worry about killing Skyler anymore. She’d just been doing her job, doing what Richard had asked her to do. “Thanks.” Faith missed the warmth of his hand when Richard stepped back and returned to his seat on the other side of the desk. “What now? You gonna give the books to Giles and the Council so they can figure out why Finch,” Faith struggled with the name, “wanted ‘em?”  
  
Richard’s expression chilled. “Why would I give my Books to the Council?”  
  
Now she’d really upset him. Faith didn’t understand why her question had been out of line. Hunching her shoulders, she kept her eyes on his desktop. “Sorry. Guess I thought... I mean, ain’t they the experts on all things demon?”  
  
There was a minute of stilted silence. “Well, I suppose you could say that.” Richard thawed a little. “I question that, though. Look how they misjudged you!” With a wave of his hand, he indicated Faith should have a seat. “Before I call that oh-so-proper Mr. Giles, I want to have a look for myself.”

Faith dropped into the chair as if her legs had been kicked out from under her. Damn it! Why did she always do that? Why did she always say or do the wrong thing? “Whatever you say, Boss.” Her stomach felt funny, a rubber band twisted and stretched until it was close to breaking.

“You look tired. You didn’t get hurt, did you?” Richard asked.

“No.” Faith’s voice squeaked, and she realized she was embarrassingly close to tears. She wanted to leave. Run. Now, before Richard noticed. But she couldn’t do that to him. “Not a scratch,” she added after clearing her throat. If she held still enough and didn’t blink, maybe she’d wouldn’t cry.

Either Richard didn’t believe her or he was simply ready for her to leave. “Take the rest of the day off, Faith. Go enjoy the sunshine and get some sleep. You really do look tired. We’ll meet back here tonight. I want to go over some plans for training my night-time security staff and set up patrol schedules.”

Training and schedules. Just like at the House. Only Richard apparently thought Faith was as smart as Giles. “Sure, Boss.” What would he do when he realized she couldn’t do what he wanted? Faith trudged from the office, despair stamping out any lingering sense of achievement.

***

The tiny doughnut shop Willow and Xander had praised was out of the way. And small. So small Tara took her coffee and bag of sugary goodness to the outdoor sitting area. Her only class on Tuesdays met in the afternoon. She wanted to sit in the sun and think until then.

And read. Munching on a jelly doughnut (which made her remember Xander’s comment about Giles), Tara pulled the first volume of _Domination: A Road to Self-Discovery_ from her backpack _._ Unless she wanted to resemble a car broken down on the side of the Domination highway, Tara needed to continue her studies.

_The journey to true Domination begins and ends with honesty. While many espouse the belief that a Master or Mistress answers to the need of their submissive above all, honesty must come first. Honesty within the self then honesty within the dynamic._

_Each Dominant comes into a bonding with a set of life experiences which shape, or filter, every action and decision in the future._

Tara snorted. Really? Whoever had given these books to her had wasted their money. She could have written that all on her own. Of course, her past affected her. She’d hidden her magic and run from her Dominance since leaving home. All because of her past.

_It seems a simple solution. Open both heart and mind, embrace the past. Be free. Yet who among us runs joyfully to throw open the doors to our deepest, darkest fears? The nightmare memories and the cruel, petty actions we have excused or deliberately misremembered to salve our conscience? As some meditate to find inner peace or enlightenment, so must the Dominant strive to empty themselves of the chains of the past._

“Easier said than done,” Tara complained, taking a savage bite of her doughnut. Jelly squished out and she hastily shoved the book to safety. “OK. So step one. Admit I’m a coward and that my father was a mean, abusive bastard.” Despite her flippant comments, Tara knew it would not be that simple. There were things, even now… Shivering, Tara closed the book with a sharp snap and wrapped both hands around her Styrofoam coffee cup.

She had to do this. “Stop being afraid,” Tara told herself.

Treating the book like a venomous snake, Tara carefully reopened it. The truth always hurt, right? She had to confront her past; the author was correct. Fine. Tara vowed she’d do it.

***

Rubbing at the goose bumps on her arms, Faith scanned the nearby streets. Buffy must be out there somewhere. The electric tingle in her veins was a clear early warning signal. Faith just couldn’t see her. Watcher Wes probably had Buffy tailing her to make sure she didn’t go on a killing spree. Uptight asshole. Ignoring the continuing buzz, she headed into the doughnut shop. Skipping breakfast to visit the Mayor had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, though, Faith was ready to eat a horse.

The girl behind the counter recognized her and immediately reached for a stack of empty cardboard boxes. “Your usual? It must be a busy day at the House. Janna was in a couple of hours ago.”

Faith’s pulse quickened. Janna rarely did the food runs. Either Buffy had Xander all chained up or they were into some heavy research. “Nah. I got the munchies,” she said. “If it’s got chocolate, I’ll take one. And a six-pack of milk.” It felt weird to toss actual cash onto the counter and not bill breakfast to the House account.

She waited impatiently while the girl piled two dozen doughnuts into boxes and added plastic bottles of milk to a carrier. Faith carried her bounty outside – and stopped. Fan-fucking-tastic. Tara was here. She couldn’t get away from the Council no matter what she did. On the verge of storming back to her apartment, Faith noticed Tara’s fierce scowl. Whatever she was reading must not be good news. Faith grinned. The pages hadn’t burst into flames yet, but she didn’t give it long.

What to do? Sneak past the obviously preoccupied witch or go home?

The decision was taken out of her hands. Tara’s head snapped up and her eyes locked unerringly on Faith. The scowl turned into the most amazing smile. Faith’s knees started to fold until she caught herself and straightened up. What the hell was that all about? “Hey,” she mumbled.

“Hey, back.” Tara was still smiling. In fact, she looked like Faith had given her a lifetime of Christmas presents all at once. She must really have wanted a distraction from her book. “Sit down.” The order crackled in the air, and Faith stiffened. Tara, of course, noticed. Her eyes widened before disappearing behind a waterfall of blonde hair. “S-sorry. I was…I didn’t mean…”

“Whatever, Lady Tara.” Faith strode across the outdoor patio and dropped into the chair across from Tara. “You ain’t shy. The way you been actin’ lately, I’m thinkin’ you might take on B as Sunnydale’s Head Bitch.” Probably not. Faith couldn’t imagine anyone out-Dominating Buffy. Still, Tara looked like she could use some encouragement. That blush had to be painful.

Apparently, Tara agreed with Faith’s exaggeration. “I d-did get Buffy to take Xander on patrol with her last night. What do you think? Mayb-be I’m already better than she is.”

Faith laughed. She couldn’t help it. “You’re a bruiser, T. No doubt about it. Should I give up my chair and hit the pavement?”

“You mean, should you kneel?” The stutter was gone. Tara’s voice had firmed, and the words brushed over Faith’s skin like a caress. “You’d need a pillow first, sweetie. The concrete wouldn’t be good for your knees. I’d hate it if you got hurt on patrol because you were stiff and sore.”

Holy crap. Who was this Dominant, and what had she done with Tara? Faith shifted in her chair, aware of a new tingle between her legs. One that had absolutely nothing to do with Buffy. “That would suck, yeah.” Her voice was stuck between a husky rumble and an embarrassing squeak – and Tara’s eyes darkened at the sound. The morning air heated until Faith thought there might be sparks blowing on the breeze.

Tara felt it, too. Faith watched her lick her lips and swallow hard.

“Eat your breakfast, Faith.” It wasn’t what Faith expected to hear. Frowning in confusion, Faith stared at Tara until she tapped a finger against the top of Faith’s doughnut boxes. “You didn’t come here looking for a play date. You were hungry. You should eat.”

“Are you kidding?” The words exploded out; Faith didn’t even attempt to censor them. She and Tara had been in synch. Faith had been ready to mention her apartment; to invite her back for way more than doughnuts.

Tara took her anger in stride. She appeared to…absorb the words. Meeting Faith’s gaze, she repeated softly, “Eat, Faith.”

No way. Faith placed her hands on the table, intending to leave. To Hell with Tara. She’d go somewhere, one of the local bars, and find someone to help scratch the itch Tara had started. And then those eyes, Tara’s eyes, stopped her. Tara didn’t say anything. But her eyes hardened.

Tara clearly wanted Faith to stay seated and to eat.

“I am kinda hungry,” Faith said, needing to explain why she gave in so easily.

Head tilting to one side, Tara responded, “Two dozen doughnuts? That’s ‘kinda hungry’? You must have thought I was trying to starve you at lunch that day. Half a sandwich isn’t even an appetizer for you, is it?”

Rather than answer, Faith took a huge bite of a chocolate glazed doughnut.

“Next time, I’ll do better.” Tara said back and gave Faith the Evil Eye. “And if I get it wrong again, I expect you to tell me.”

Tara had changed a lot since the Winter Social. The shy little mouse had learned to roar.

“Did Giles drop a book on your head last night?” Of course, Faith had a mouth full of doughnut when she spoke.

That might have explained the lag time between the question and the answer. “I don’t think so. But if it was _The Compendium of Ancient Vampyres and Demon Clans_ I might have a concussion and not be able to remember it. It must weigh thirty pounds.”

“And Giles keeps it on the top shelf.” Working her way through the rest of the doughnuts and milk, Faith read the spine of Tara’s book. “You get your ‘grr’ on ‘cause you been readin’ that?”

Tara grabbed the book and stuffed it in her backpack.

Ooh, she’d scored a direct hit. Something in that book had affected Tara, and Tara was trying to hide it. Wanting more information – but not wanting to act like it - Faith casually leaned back, legs stretched out. “You wanna tell me why you got to read about bein’ a Dominant?”

“You want to tell me how the new job with the Mayor’s going?” Tara fired back. She must not have bought Faith’s uncaring routine. She clearly wasn’t willing to tell Faith about whatever she’d been reading.

And Faith had no intention of discussing the Mayor with anyone from the Council. Not even Tara.

Luckily, Tara didn’t push. In fact, she slumped back in her chair. “If I keep losing Dominant points with you, I’ll have to move my marker to the right.” Tara ran a hand through her hair. “And that could be a problem. I have it on very good authority that my marker in on the correct side.” From the way she plucked at the leather cuff, though, Faith thought Tara could have some doubts. Really? She’d been doing fine up to now. And she was a whole lot better than Buffy, who ran roughshod over everyone.

“Red give you that book?” Only Willow would think reading would teach something as action-intensive as a dynamic.

Tara thought about the question. “I don’t think so. A friend threw a party when I…when I bonded.” For someone chatting about finding her soulmate, Tara didn’t seem exactly overjoyed. “No one there admitted to getting it for me. And Willow didn’t know anything about the bond then.” Gathering up all the trash on the table, Tara continued. “You’ll be happy to know that my merry band of Dominant mentors agrees with you. Reading is fun and enhances the mind. It does not, thank you, Faith, teach anyone – including me – to be a Dominant.”

There were some serious issues rumbling around behind Tara’s pretty blue eyes. Faith very wisely said nothing. In fact, she inched her chair back a little. _Don’t mess with the cranky Domme_ , _idiot,_ she mentally warned herself. Especially one who could do magic.

“How far in the points hole am I now?” Tara put her head on the table.

“I lost count.” Reaching across the table, Faith gently patted the top of Tara’s head. “Don’t matter anyway. What I think ain’t important. You got a sub. What do they think?”

If anything, Tara appeared even more miserable. “I don’t know. The bond isn’t complete.”

That sucked. Faith didn’t know what to say so she sat there, watching a bird hunt for crumbs under a table across the patio. What would it be like to know there was someone out there? Someone who was supposed to be a perfect match?

The hair on Faith’s arms sprang to attention. Damn Buffy for lurking. Faith glared at the empty sidewalk for a second before rubbing a hand up and down her forearms. “So you’re gettin’ ready. That’s why you got that book.” Lucky sub. Tara was pretty and way nicer than any Dominant Faith had met. “You happy about it? The bond?”

A minute ago, Tara had been slumped over the table. At Faith’s question, though, she sat upright. “Yes. Yes, I am. Even though the she’s blocking the link, my submissive is beautiful and smart. And I can’t wait to show her how much I want her.”

Beautiful and smart. Faith’s throat tightened and an ache developed in her chest. She wanted someone to say things like that about her – and it would never happen. Her mother, Diana, the Council. They all knew the truth. Even the Mayor would know soon.

“Have you ever…dreamed of finding your Dominant?” Tara asked, watching Faith intently.

“No,” Faith answered curtly. Not since her first john had given her “lessons on obedience”. Her back burned with phantom welts, and she automatically leaned away from the back of the chair in response. “Who’d want me? You’re with the Council. I bet they told you all about me. I’m a legend; the worst Slayer ever.”

Tara was out her chair and around the table so quickly Faith jerked in surprise. “Don’t you _ever_ say anything like that again! You are a good Slayer. The only people who don’t agree are that idiot Wesley – and you.” Her fingers gripped Faith’s chin firmly for a second before gentling. They slipped away, gliding across her throat, lingering over her suddenly pounding pulse point, and then tangling in the hair at the nape of Faith’s neck. “Goddess, you are so beautiful,” Tara whispered. Right before her lips descended on Faith’s.

This was no tender, testing kiss. Tara’s shy, hippy appearance hid a wild, violent side. Her teeth nipped at Faith’s lips, and her tongue dueled with Faith’s.

Faith reared back, and Tara’s fingers nearly ripped a handful of hair from her head as she held Faith in place. Fuck, yes. The outdoor patio dropped away. Holding still, Faith allowed Tara to control the kiss. To control _her._ There was no drive to resist. No need to run away. Faith melted into the wet heat of Tara’s mouth.

She was so lost in sensation it took several seconds to realize Tara had pulled away and run from the coffee shop.


	29. Chapter 29

Tara was an idiot. There was no other way to explain what she’d done. Leaning against the sun-warmed brick wall of the doughnut shop, Tara held her hands out. They shook violently.

At least, she consoled herself, the trembling wasn’t from fear. Far from it. Tara rode a wave of Dominance. Not a wave. A tsunami. Dark desires, urges to _possess_ and _mark,_ blotted out the bright morning. The feel of Faith’s hair in her fingers. The way she’d leaned willingly into Tara’s kiss. Tara wanted more of that. Right now. Right this very minute.

But Tara didn’t have the right to march back onto the patio and demand Faith follow her home. Into her cuffs. Into her bed.

Tara had no rights at all. Faith wasn’t her submissive in any recognizable way. The link…

That was it. The link! Tara closed her eyes and fought her spastic mind into submission. Oh, yes. Yes! The bondmate link had widened. Tara inched along the conduit, basking in Faith’s arousal. It fed Tara’s on a continuous loop.

_Desire/confusion/surrender_

She pushed farther. “ _Faith?”_

Nothing. Not a single stray thought answered Tara’s mental call. As she strained, desperate to hear Faith’s thoughts, Tara shivered as the wash of Faith’s arousal turned cold and hardened into a limitless mountain of self-loathing. Then the link closed off again, leaving Tara alone in her mind.

What had Tara done? What had her stupid loss of control done to Faith?

Tara ran back to the patio. She had to make this right. She had to…

She had to do nothing. Faith was gone. The patio was empty. Hugging her backpack to her chest, Tara stared at the tiny table in the back where she’d shared breakfast with Faith.

_Faith’s husky laugh shivered over Tara’s nerves. Goddess, she loved that sound. Loved the way Faith’s eyes darkened and her dimples flashed. “You’re a bruiser, T. No doubt about it. Should I give up my chair and hit the pavement?”_

“Yes,” Tara whispered to that image of Faith. Then a choked, “Please come back,” followed. She’d take Faith however she could. Standing, sitting, angry and defiant. Tara didn’t care as long as Faith came back.

"You tryin’ to find them lost Domme Points?” Faith asked from behind her. “They weren’t on the table. I checked before tossing the trash.” Although the words were teasing, the tone was not. And Faith’s stony expression backed up the whole lack of funny.

Tara had hurt her. Deeply. It didn’t take a soulbond to know that. Gripping her resolve, Tara said quietly, “I’m sorry, Faith. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“Yeah?” Indifference coated the question. Faith couldn’t have cared less, and Tara would have believed her if she hadn’t been watching so closely. She would have missed the minute upward curl of Faith’s lips and the way her eyes brightened. After all, Faith’s scowl was truly fierce.

“Yes.” Dropping her backpack onto the sidewalk, Tara slowly stepped forward. The tiny connection she’d shared with Faith during breakfast was gone. Tara had tarnished that by fleeing. She would have to go slowly. Rebuild it. And, most importantly, allow Faith to tell her if she wanted more. “But I’m here now, and I promise I won’t run again.”

The muscles of Faith’s face tightened. “Whatever.”

“Dominants are only human, Faith. Wearing a leather marker on my left wrist doesn’t make me all-knowing or infallible. It makes me someone who prefers to cherish and guide my partner. That’s all. I made a mistake.” One finger rose and brushed across Faith’s lips. “You _are_ beautiful, my Slayer.” The possessive was out of bounds because Tara had not yet collared Faith. Tara didn’t care. “Beautiful and powerful. What kind of arrogance does it take for one inexperienced Dominant to imagine, even for a single minute, that she could control you?”

“You think too much, T. You weren’t imagin’ anything over doughnuts and coffee.” Every time Faith spoke, her lips caressed Tara’s fingers. “You were just fucking _doin’_ it.”

Dominance wasn’t instinctive, Tara wanted to protest. She didn’t because Faith was right. Althenea had said it first. She needed to trust her heart. “And is that what you want? To be ‘fucking doing it?’”

The arrogance Tara thought she’d needed peered back at her through Faith’s eyes. “You tell me, T.”

The challenge had been clearly issued. The cuffs were there…if Tara had the guts to use them. Unfortunately, there was a problem with picking up Faith’s verbal gauntlet. Nowhere in any of the “how to be a Dominant” books had anyone discussed the importance of planning. It was a definite informational gap. “You realize we have a logistical issue?” Namely, they were across town from Trish’s home.

“Not my problem.” Faith shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. The picture of casual. “Ma’am.”

“Brat,” Tara stated. “Just for that, I should order you to carry me. Put those muscles,” those very sexy muscles, “to good use.” It might leave Faith too tired to play, though. A tragedy. Stepping around Faith, Tara scanned the street. Sunnydale had one cab company and three cabs. The chance of finding one was slim.

Unless the Goddess watched out for you. Tara walked into the street to ensure the car zooming down the street stopped. One hand at Faith’s back guided her into the back seat. Tara climbed in after.

“Where to?” The cab driver glanced first at Tara and then at Faith.

About to give the address to Trish’s house, Tara hesitated. Maxie didn’t have class on Tuesday and would be home. Where else could they go? A club? The thought of walking through Top of the World and renting one of the private rooms made Tara cringe.

“920 Aegeon.” Faith smirked at Tara as if to say, “You’re losing those points again.”

Narrowing her eyes, Tara decided to earn a few points back. Her backpack yielded a silk scarf she normally used to tie her hair into a ponytail. It slipped easily around Faith’s neck in a simple lanyard hitch. “Have you forgotten who’s in charge?” Tara gently twisted her hand in the scarf end, tightening the loop around Faith’s neck.

Oh, yes. The melted-chocolate highlights were back in Faith’s eyes. Setting her left hand on Faith’s thigh, Tara tugged until Faith leaned closer. Their previous kiss had been unplanned. Not an accident; yet not a deliberate act. This was. Tara used her makeshift leash to hold Faith in place. An unspoken reminder that Faith had given herself to Tara – at least for now.

Unspoken might not work, however. Faith tested Tara’s resolve. She pressed into Tara and nipped at her tongue.

Tara punished the behavior by pulling away. If Faith wanted the kissing to continue, it would do so on Tara’s terms or not at all. Faith, Tara decided, had better make the right decision. _Tara_ really wanted the kissing to continue. “Red or green?” she murmured. Stop or go.

Indecision flickered across Faith’s expression.

Red, then. Tara unhooked the scarf and returned it to her bag. To stay connected with Faith, though, she ran her palm up and down Faith’s thigh. Her nails scraped over the well-worn denim of Faith’s pants. Tara enjoyed the audible hitch in Faith’s breathing at the caresses. When the cab stopped outside an apartment building, Tara hopped out and paid the driver.

Faith was slower to get out. Everything about her body language had suddenly closed off. Hands in pockets. Shoulders tight and hunched. Scowl in place.

“Is this where you live, sweetie? It’s really nice.” Tara put some distance between them. It was the right move. Faith’s shoulders relaxed noticeably. Maneuvering invisible land mines, Tara held out her hand. _Your move, my Slayer_. “Will you show me around?”

When she’d done something similar at the Slayer House, the stakes hadn’t been as high. Tara hadn’t known then that Faith was her bondmate. She’d only known that she wanted Faith to relax and be happy. Although those same goals were hovering near them now, Tara’s hand represented the first step in building a relationship with Faith. Keeping her hand extended – and her nearly crippling self doubts hidden – leeched the color from the day.

Please. Oh, Goddess, please.

The color rushed back and birds sang arias. Faith’s callused fingers fired every nerve in Tara’s body when Faith accepted Tara’s outstretched hand. Her grip was loose. A mere link between two of her fingers and Tara’s.

It didn’t matter. Tara restrained a girlish squeal of delight and a desire to skip as she followed Faith into the building.

Self-control had been the right choice. Faith hadn’t closed off again, but she was very unsure. Tara vowed to enroll in a dozen psychology courses for the Summer Session. Without a full bond, all she had to go on were Faith’s actions, words, and body language. Faith’s wants and needs apparently weren’t on the same page, from the continued frown and the accompanying hesitant glances in Tara’s direction.

As Faith’s tension appeared to mount with the rising floor numbers, Tara’s inexplicably dropped. Calm blanketed her mind. When the elevator stopped and Faith stalked to her apartment door, Tara said quietly, “Once the door closes behind us, my Slayer, I want you on your knees.”

Faith’s smooth gait faltered, and her head whipped around.

“Your safeword is red, Faith. Unless you use it, you are mine.” The next words were bitter against Tara’s tongue. “For today. Do you understand?”

A heartbeat, then two marked the wait time as Faith considered that. “Yes. Ma’am.” The key slipped into the lock and the door opened. They walked inside, Tara’s hand once again resting on Faith’s back, a reminder that Faith moved where Tara directed.

The door closed, and _Tara_ locked it. Not Faith. Faith stood in the wood-floored entryway, her back stiff. Tara hadn’t won the challenge. She had merely forced another round. If Tara wanted Faith on her knees, she would have to put Faith there.

Anticipation bubbled through Tara’s veins. The airy apartment faded into the background as Tara’s focus narrowed. “You asked me at breakfast if you should take to your knees, Faith. What was my answer?” Her combat boots made weird creaking noises as she walked farther into the room. Perfect. She didn’t even have to hunt for a pillow. Picking one off the couch, Tara tossed it in front of Faith and waited.

“I don’t need a pillow,” Faith protested. “Slayer, remember? Done way worse than kneel on a wood floor.”

Faith was so cute when she tried to be tough. Of course, Tara could never let her know that. “That isn’t the point, is it, sweetie?” With a tilt of her head, she gestured at the pillow. “Where should you be?”

Tara grew the tiniest bit lightheaded when Faith dropped to her knees. On the pillow. “Thank you, Faith.” She strode over, unable to resist touching her sub. Soft skin. Silky hair. Tara rewarded them both with a bruising kiss of possession that left her panting and her hands tangled in Faith’s hair. “What are your limits, Faith?” Tara would never be able to hide her reaction to touching Faith. Her voice had dropped an entire octave. Releasing her hold on Faith, Tara walked through the apartment while she waited for an answer.

“I don’t have limits.” Why was Faith’s response not a surprise?

Without glancing in Faith’s direction, Tara announced, “Everyone has limits. Even superheroes and Slayers.” She’d have to come at this topic from another angle. “What turns you on? What can I do for you that would make our session,” their entire lives, “as good as Slaying?” Hmmm. This could be useful. Tara paused in the workout area of the apartment. A deep, built-in cabinet held an unused jump rope. Tara picked it up and resumed her tour.

Faith’s answers, however, did not resume.

“Let me tell you _my_ limits, Faith. I won’t use any impact tool heavier than a paddle.” Using the crop on Maxie… Tara shivered. Never for play. Never again for punishment, if she could avoid it. “No whips, floggers, crops, or canes. Nothing that might leave permanent marks.”

_“You think you’ll ever be free of me, bitch? You wear my marks. I put those there with this.” The whip cracked and a second later Tara’s mother screamed. “No one else would ever want you now.”_

The shiny new kitchen wavered as Tara heard her father’s phantom voice. She gripped the Formica counter with desperate strength. Not here. Not now. Swallowing against the bile burning her throat, Tara deliberately turned and looked at Faith.

There was a sight to chase away her demons. Her Slayer, resting on her knees. With some of the worst posture Tara had ever seen. Had no one made an attempt to teach Faith how to submit? “I don’t know much about rope bondage, but I’m learning. I think you’d look unbelievable tied and displayed.” She’d have to drag that damned Bondage Betty blow-up doll out of her closet and practice. “Now it’s your turn.” More centered, Tara went back to the kitchen.

Did Faith eat here? The utensils appeared brand new. Which was good. Who wanted to use a wooden spoon as a toy if it had just stirred the soup cooking on the stove? Sanitary was safest. Tara added that spoon, a wickedly springy rubber spatula, and a sharp knife to her collection. Chip clips? She hesitated with the pantry door open.

Not today. She needed more sub study time before trying nipple clamps. Tara could really have used a shopping cart as she filled an ice bucket with ice cubes.

“Faith? I don’t hear any limits,” she warned. There were enough toys for now. Her sub needed some motivation to share at the moment. Leaving her goodies on the kitchen counter, she headed back to Faith. “Honesty and trust are the foundation of a dynamic,” she lectured. “Without it, there is no balance between Domination and submission.” All those hours reading books were good for something, at least. “Worse, there is no safety. I never want to harm you, sweetie. And I only want to hurt you in a way you’ll enjoy. Was I not clear in what I expected from you?” She added a bite to the final question and smiled when Faith’s head dropped in response.

“No,” Faith muttered at the floor.

“No, _Tara,_ ” Tara instructed. She wouldn’t push for “ma’am” yet. Besides, she liked the way Faith said her name. “T” was for Faith’s friend. “Tara,” in that husky rumble was for Faith’s Dominant. With gentle hands, she rearranged Faith on the pillow. Knees no longer spread all the way open, just wide enough to fit on the pillow for comfort. Hands resting palms-up on her thighs. Back straight. Chest out. “Very pretty, Faith.”

Pretty was a lame description. Tara was just short of pounding her chest and screaming a primitive challenge to any other Dominant in the area. Faith knelt _for Tara_. She would submit to Tara alone.

“Was I not clear in what I expected from you?” Tara would stick with that point until she got the proper response.

“No, Tara.” Faith’s voice was softer, some of the tension missing. Her breathing had slowed as well.

Tara waited and watched for a moment until she thought Faith was truly ready. “What are your limits, Faith?” All she really wanted was for Faith to try. To give her something.

“I don’t like bein’ tied down.” It was said so softly Tara unconsciously leaned closer. “And don’t…don’t…” Faith fought for the words until she nearly came off the pillow. Tara encouraged her with soft kisses behind Faith’s ear and the curve of her jaw. “Don’t hit me. With your fist. Paddlin’s OK.”

Some had _hit_ Faith? Tara dropped to her knees in front of Faith and held Faith’s head still with palms on each cheek. “Never, my Slayer. I swear I will _never_ do that to you.” And if she ever found the bastard who had, it would be the perfect opportunity to test a levin bolt spell Tara had run across. Needing to reward Faith’s reluctant sharing, Tara took the opportunity to kiss Faith again. It was addictive. One led to two. And three.

Finally able to pull away, Tara rose to her feet and brought Faith with her. It would have been easier if Faith wore her collar. Tara had to be content with a tight grip on the back of Faith’s neck. Her earlier tour had provided toys. Tara needed something else. Hardware. Surely an apartment this high-end would have that.

It did. However, the eyebolts and hooks were tastefully disguised. “Remove your jacket. Then take down that plant in front of the window, sweetie. It’s not really you.” It already looked wilted from lack of care. “Then kneel with your back to the window, arms raised, and wrists crossed over your head. You won’t need the pillow.” Faith wouldn’t be on her knees for long this time.

Only long enough for Tara to grab her toys from the kitchen and return to the living room. The sight of Faith, exactly as she’d requested, took her breath away. Faith’s raised arms highlighted her amazing muscle tone and implied that Faith was offering herself to Tara. Although the offer was short-term, Tara took it.

She pulled an end table next to Faith and sat everything except the rope down. Tara formed two identical loops with the jump rope before threading them through each other and pulling the outer segments. Sloppy “handcuffs” now sat on either side of the central knot, with additional rope and the handles dangling below. The loops fit easily over Faith’s hands. Tara watched Faith carefully as she pulled on the loose ends to tighten the rope around Faith’s wrists.

Faith had said she didn’t like to be tied down. She had _not_ indicated that all forms of bondage were a limit. Tara didn’t hear a safeword. And Faith remained relaxed, with only a hint of tension, as Tara finished her work by tying the loose ends together just beneath the main handcuff knot. It wasn’t the best way to restrain someone, but Tara wasn’t going for full immobility. She only wanted to increase Faith’s sense of vulnerability.

With gentle pressure, Tara indicated Faith should stand. The rope knot hooked onto the heavy-grade hook that had been holding the plant. A quick search revealed a second hook panel on the nearby wall. Tara retracted enough of the delicate yet sturdy chain until Faith’s arms were raised. She did not attempt to pull Faith onto her toes. Nylon wasn’t designed for that and might damage Faith’s skin. And the knot was more for show than function.

It still presented a pretty picture. And it was enough like “real” bondage to have created a red flush from just above Faith’s breasts to her hairline.

Tara felt a bit flushed herself. “Red or green, my Slayer?”

“Green, Tara.” Mmm, submissive Faith was in the room. Tara shuddered at the soft, slightly fuzzy answer.

“Do you know what it’s like to know someone as powerful as you granted me control?” Tara slowly circled Faith, hand trailing over every inch of her back and stomach. Faith’s muscles twitched delightfully at the touch. Touch, twitch, step, touch, twitch. A little more of the world faded as Tara completed a second circuit. “It’s like drinking a dozen double-shot espressos at one sitting.” The air around Tara felt electric with energy.

Still…Those damned Dominance books seriously needed to add a few chapters on planning. Tara’s sub was all strung up and ready to play – fully clothed. Tara would have to be creative. The paring knife worked wonders on Faith’s t-shirt and bra (although it might need sharpening before cutting any more fruit). Faith’s boots came off with more effort, and Tara eased Faith’s jeans and underwear off as well.

Tara shoved the clothing aside and took her first taste of Faith’s skin. A hint of sweat and the tang of perfume teased her taste buds. Up close, she felt each tiny twitch as Faith reacted as she traced a path from neck to nipples. The hum of inner white noise filled Tara’s mind. She heard nothing but Faith’s increasingly labored breathing and the clink of melting ice cubes dropping lower in the bucket.

Not wanting to waste precious water, Tara snagged a cube and set it directly over Faith’s right nipple.

“Ah! Shit! That’s cold!” Faith stepped away from Tara – and that wasn’t what Tara wanted.

Her free hand collided sharply with Faith’s thigh. “Don’t you move,” Tara ordered. She rearranged Faith to her satisfaction and then waited for Faith to respond. It wasn’t verbal; unless you counted the silent grinding of Faith’s teeth and the nasty glare she turned Tara’s way. Too bad Tara wasn’t in the mood to care. There had been no safeword. “Good girl.” It wasn’t time to work on Faith’s attitude; Tara was only after her obedience.

Tara’s cold-numbed fingers warmed as she slid them and the remaining sliver of ice over Faith’s stomach. Faith whined – and stayed in place. “Such a good Slayer.” Tara licked at the water droplets on Faith’s skin and sucked her taut, chilled nipple into her mouth.

The whine changed to a husky moan.

Selecting another ice cube, Tara alternated cold with her mouth. By the time the last piece melted, Faith writhed _into_ Tara, rather than away. Tara straightened. Faith’s pupils were dark and blown. In defiance of the ice play, sweat glistened on her skin.

“Don’t stop. Almost…almost there,” Faith said. Her feet didn’t move. She’d learned that lesson. Her hips tilted forward in invitation, however.

Tara’s lips curled in an evil smile. “Almost where, Faith? Do you have somewhere else to be?” Her hand hovered over the spoon and spatula for a moment. The spoon won. “That’s too bad. I’m not ready to let you leave.”

Lightly, using no real force, Tara flicked the spoon against Faith’s right butt cheek. This time, Faith’s hip tilt was at Tara’s whim. She switched the utensil to her left hand and used the spatula with her right. Right. Left. Butt. Thigh. Up and down Faith’s body.

Faith danced to the tune of faints smacks. Every few blows, Tara added a hint of power. Reactions to those gave Tara another idea. She dropped to her knees again, thankful that kitchen utensils had long handles. She paused the “punishment” long enough to wrap her lips around Faith’s engorged clit. Her tongue toyed with the hood.

Pleasure and pain. Working the utensils in tandem with her lips and tongue, Tara controlled Faith’s limited movements. The body pressed against her undulated, thrust into the caresses and back into the bite of spoon and spatula. The movements grew more pronounced; Faith’s muscles tightened until Tara knew she was out of playtime. One extra sharp smack of the spoon landed at the same time Tara lashed her tongue right over the tip of Faith’s clit.

Faith climaxed with a hoarse shout, and Tara gripped her hips to keep her from falling. Once she was sure she’d nursed Faith through the last possible aftershock, Tara quickly stood. Keeping one arm around Faith, she cut the rope away from Faith’s wrists and led her across the apartment to the bed. “Climb on, sweetie,” she urged, holding the comforter up.

“Yes, Tara.” Faith slipped under the blanket and Tara curled along Faith’s back.

Goddess. Desire pounded through Tara. She’d dimly been aware of it in the living room. Most of her attention had been for Faith, though. Now, with Faith wrapped in her arms… Tara sucked in a slow breath and contented herself with stroking Faith until she came out of subspace. The soft caresses weren’t meant to rekindle the flames of passion; they were meant to comfort and reassure. “I’m here, Faith. I’ve got you,” Tara whispered. The glide of her fingers over Faith’s skin was hypnotic. Tara floated, more at peace than she could ever remember.

Until Faith stiffened and rolled away. The abrupt move shattered Tara’s peace and left her cold and shivering. “Faith? What’s wrong?” Had she somehow crossed one of Faith’s boundaries?

“Nothing’s wrong. Just ain’t ready for a nap, that’s all.” When Faith climbed out of bed and hunted through the dressers for new clothes, Tara understood. The scene was over; Faith had no desire for aftercare.

It was time for Tara to leave. Until that moment, Tara hadn’t realized how much more she’d hoped would come from their time together. She was a fool. The link hadn’t grown any. Faith wasn’t sharing her thoughts or emotions – except through her obvious cold shoulder. Tara’s arousal shriveled and died. “I sh-should leave. My class st-starts soon.” Class. Like Tara cared about her class.

But she did care about Faith. If Faith needed her to leave, to pretend there was nothing more than this one afternoon between them, Tara would go. Trudging to the door, Tara grabbed her backpack. She didn’t want to leave. “Faith…”

“Don’t want ya’ to miss class.” At least Faith finally glanced up. A ghost of a smile appeared. “Guess you got all those Domme points back with interest. You ever need to stock up…”

Tears threatened. Faith wasn’t making this a one-time session. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anywhere close to enough. “It you ever need to remember who’s in charge…” Tara hoped her voice sounded teasing, and not like she was ready to cry.

She made it all the way into the elevator before the first sob escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty good at updating twice a week, but this is the busy season in RL. For the couple of months, I'll only be adding a chapter a week. My apologies.


	30. Chapter 30

It was crowded in the Doublemeat Palace. Faith sat at a table for two in the back. She needed to head to City Hall and meet the Mayor. Hell, she probably should have been there hours ago. She just hadn’t managed to muster the motivation to go. Taking a bite of her burger, Faith glanced around. Families with screaming kids filled most of the booths. A couple holding hands sat directly across from her.  
  
Faith forced the bite of food past the sudden constriction in her throat. It tasted like crap. Just like the leftover pizza in Faith’s ‘fridge or the one-pound bag of her favorite peanut M&Ms. Maybe she was coming down with something. Rolling her shoulders, Faith grimaced at the tight, achy feeling in her muscles. Fucking perfect. Slayers kicked serious demon ass but were still vulnerable to the common cold. She dragged her jeans jacket closed and scowled at all the happy people around her. After a minute, the scowl faded. Faith was too tired to maintain the expression. She really just wanted to curl up and sleep.  
  
 _“I’m right here, my Slayer.” Tara kissed the back of Faith’s neck. Her arms were warm and more solid than Faith expected. In fact...they felt pretty fucking awesome. “I love holding you, did you know that? Soft, sleepy Slayer.” The gentle words flowed over Faith with all the warmth of an electric blanket in a Boston winter. They sucked at her. Pulled her down into a place she’d never been before._  
  
 _Closing her eyes, Faith pressed closer to Tara. She’d rest. Just for a minute. Then when she woke up, Faith would take care of Tara. Tara had **earned** it._

_Sleep. Tara’s arms. Sleep in Tara’s arms._

_Faith panicked…_  
  
Soda cascaded over Faith’s hand, and she stared dazedly at the crushed paper cup. Her heart raced frantically as a puddle of brown liquid spread over the pile of fries and the burger remains on the table in front of her. It might have ended up in her lap if a Dominant from a nearby table hadn’t tossed a handful of napkins on the spill. “Do you need some help?”  
  
Good fucking Samaritans. They never knew when to leave things alone. “No,” Faith mumbled. It might have been a lie, though.  Her head suddenly pounded, and her hands were blocks of ice.  
  
“You don’t look all that good.” The Domme was going to be a problem. She waved to her male sub and their two children, and Faith knew she had to make an escape. Faith didn’t need a new mommy. One crazy bitch in a single lifetime was enough.

Abandoning her soggy dinner, Faith put her head down and shoved her way past the Dominant. The woman tried to grab her arm, but Faith was a Slayer. It took no effort to twist free and stride from the DMP.  City Hall and her date with the Mayor loomed; yet Faith wandered aimlessly through downtown Sunnydale.

“ _I’m right here, my Slayer.”_

Why had Tara said that? Tara sure as Hell wasn’t her Dominant. “My Slayer”. Like Faith belonged to her. Faith didn’t belong to anyone. She didn’t even belong _anywhere._ Not Boston. Never Boston. Not here in Sunnydale at the Slayer House.

Tara hadn’t really meant any of the things she’d said. She’d lied. She was like everyone else in Faith’s life. Tara had run the second Faith hopped out of bed, saying she had to go to class. Faith’s conscience reared its head. Tara hadn’t left because she wanted to. She’d left because Faith had kicked her out of bed and then nearly shoved her out the door.  

Images of the morning with Tara chased around Faith’s memories. Dropping onto a bench, Faith leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Somehow, Tara had gotten inside Faith’s head. She’d pushed Faith emotionally off balance. No, that wasn’t right. Faith had _let_ Tara inside her head. Tara made Faith feel…good. Strangely happy and calm.

Tara’s blue eyes chipped at Faith’s self-control. Her smile tangled around Faith’s heart.

It was stupid. Beyond fucking stupid. Tara was bonded. She wore a black cuff. She was off limits.

Why did it even matter? Faith didn’t want a bond. She didn’t want a Dominant for anything more than scratching an occasional itch. No way would Faith ever willingly obey someone outside the bedroom. She wasn’t weak. She didn’t need a Dominant to tell her what to do.

Opening her eyes and staring up into the darkening sky, Faith admitted a terrible truth: she wanted Tara. Wanted her as more than a one-night stand. Not…not full time. Not like a real Dominant. Still, it was an impossible wish. Even if Tara was willing to be a recurring date, her submissive would show up eventually.

Faith catapulted off the bench and stalked down the sidewalk. What the fuck was wrong with her? She needed to get her head on straight again. Faith was better off on her own. Trusting people, letting them close enough, wanting them to stick around, ended one way. Badly. Usually with Faith broken and bleeding and alone. Faith had a lot of experience at that. She didn’t need to go through it again. She’d learned that lesson too well. Better to keep her morning with Tara as a pleasant memory and move on.

Lead weights settled on Faith’s shoulders. Every step toward City Hall seemed to stretch for a mile. Faith had to force her body forward. Her pace was so slow and deliberate that evening had become night by the time she glimpsed the lights of City Hall ahead.

The Mayor was waiting for her. _He_ was her future, not Tara. For the first time, though, Faith wasn’t excited when she took the first of the stone steps leading to the front doors. Her position with the Mayor was only a job. It wasn’t a way of life the way Slaying had been. Calling in sick had never seemed like such a good idea until now.

Halfway up the steps, Faith paused.

Vampires. And very nearby. Her stomach twisted into a very specific knot, and a little of her depression lifted. Slaying was the best way Faith knew to feel better. Reversing course, she ran toward the pull of her senses.

They were closer than she’d thought. So close, it was a wonder Faith hadn’t seen them as she’d walked down Whiteoak. Four vampires clustered around an open service entrance in the alley next to City Hall. An entrance _into_ City Hall.

With a full-throated battle cry, Faith unsheathed the knife the Mayor had given her and charged the group. It wasn’t the ideal weapon for killing vampires, but it was all Faith had. She’d make it work.

Two of the vampires rushed to meet her. Faith ducked a wild haymaker from the tall, skinny one on the left. Stepping to _his_ left gave her an unimpeded shot at his gut – and that’s where she buried her dagger. Not a kill shot for a vampire. Still painful and enough to take him out of the fight for a few minutes. Faith shoved him off the blade, blocking out the sight of his body dropping to the ground.

This wasn’t the warehouse district. The vampire wasn’t Allan Finch. Fear still tightened her muscles, and Faith’s next slash with the knife was off-target. She caught the second vampire across the cheek rather than the throat. Fangs flashing, he drove Faith back several yards until her back slammed into the wall of the adjacent police station.

“Not smart, asshole.” Faith wasn’t distracted or bored any longer. Letting him hold her shoulders to the wall, she raised her legs and drove them into his chest. He staggered away. Faith didn’t let him get too far, though. She bridged the gap, knife flashing in a powerful arc.

The Mayor had excellent taste in blades. The steel cut through the vampire’s neck with only the slightest hesitation at the spine. The vampire dropped to the pavement as a pile of dust. One down. Three to go. Faith’s first victim was still out of the fight so she turned her attention to the two hovering by the door. Neither was armed. Perfect. They didn’t stand a chance.

That didn’t mean the vampires were willing to go quietly. They ran at Faith, launching a coordinated attack. Blocking a kick, Faith snaked her hand around that vampire’s ankle and pulled him forward – right into her booted foot. “Hope ya’ didn’t want kids,” she told him as he dropped like a stone. 

By this time, the final standing vampire had realized the odds for survival were bad. He turned to run. Unfortunately, Faith wasn’t willing to let him go. Somersaulting forward, she rolled to her feet in front of him before adding his remains to the alley floor. Her final two victims barely put up a struggle (they were both prone on the ground already) as she decapitated them. Slaying. There was nothing like it. Faith twirled her dagger and cast out with her senses.

Nothing. There were no other vampires in the area. Too bad. The fight had her adrenaline pumping. She slipped inside the open door, hoping to discover what had brought them to City Hall. It was difficult to see at first; thankfully, Slayer senses overcame most of the gloom after a minute. Faith carefully moved through what appeared to be a maintenance garage or large storage facility. Crates sat in untidy piles and fought for space with steel shelves crammed with unidentifiable machine parts. After barking her shins and nearly knocking down a pyramid of paint cans, Faith finally found a light switch.

What had the vampires wanted in here? There was absolutely nothing of value. She’d have to let the Mayor know and make sure Security kept a closer eye on things. Faith closed the exterior door.

The lock hadn’t been broken. In fact, the door looked brand new. Life on the streets of Boston had given Faith many unusual skills. Lock picking had been her favorite. Faith was certain the vampires hadn’t jimmied the lock. There were no scratch marks marring the metal knob.

Either someone had let them in, or they’d had a key. She deliberately left it unlocked. After making sure the Mayor was out of danger, Faith planned to come back and take another look around.

Faith exited the room into a back corridor inside City Hall. There wasn’t a single security guard between the storage area and the Mayor’s office. Continuing her search, Faith stalked every hall and unlocked room in the building. No guards. She broke into a run and burst into the Mayor’s office. “Boss!”

Richard dropped the glass he been holding and spun around, hands raised in surrender. “Don’t shoot! I swear I didn’t steal anything.”

As focused as she was, Faith didn’t laugh. “We got trouble. I killed some vamps breaking in, and the guards are all missing in action. You gotta get someplace safe.”

“Breaking in? Faith, what are you talking about?” Richard didn’t appear concerned. He bent and began to carefully pick up the larger pieces of glass on the carpet. “Why would anyone break in here? It’s not like we have anything of value. Tourist brochures and outdated computers.”

“I don’t know.” And Faith didn’t care. “Don’t really matter. They were comin’ into the building, and that means you ain’t safe.”

The Mayor wasn’t moving toward the door. In fact, he appeared impatient and frustrated. The tic was back in his face and he glared at her for an instant before his expression smoothed. “Faith, I’m not going anywhere. Have a seat. There’s work to be done. If you’re so worried about the security here, make some changes. It is your job now, after all. Hire or fire whoever you want. Talk to Joan in the morning; she can get you all of the applications we have on file for security positions. If none of those are good enough, I’ll authorize an ad for the paper.”

“But…” If Faith picked him up, she could at least get him out of the building. After that, she’d have a problem.

“Sit. Down.” The Mayor’s voice sharpened.

Faith hurried to a chair and sat down. She hated it when he was angry with her.

“Thank you. Now, let me show you what I want you to work on. It’s right up your alley, _and_ it will give you a chance to fix this security problem you think I have.” He rummaged in a desk drawer. “Here are the current guard schedules and personnel files.

Faith reluctantly took the manila folders. The schedule was straight out of her recent past. Calendar grids filled with cribbed writing. Names and shift times. Duty stations. Enough like Giles’ patrol schedule to make her hands sweat. And the Mayor expected her to fill these out.

“Now, I’ve only budgeted for the twelve guards we have, and funds are tight. If you decide you need more manpower, I’ll have to see where I can cut back.” At least Richard hadn’t noticed Faith’s burgeoning panic. “I’m still studying the emails Allan was exchanging with his demon buddies as well. You up for some more demon hunting and information gathering?”

“You bet.” Anything to avoid those damned schedules.

Her answer pleased Richard. Beaming, he leaned back in his chair – and crushed Faith’s spirit. “Excellent. Get the schedules ready by noon tomorrow. Only for next week, though. I try to post them mid-day on Wednesday. It’s good to have a chance to plan your life around your schedule, right? Give the boys enough time to figure out when they can spend time with their families.”

Tomorrow at noon. He was crazy. Faith might be able to do it by the end of the week. And that was a big might. “OK,” she choked out. “What kinda demon stuff you got?”

“Allan arranged to purchase some items from a broker. I’m not sure exactly what. The invoice mentioned a box of some sort.” He shrugged. “Whatever it is can’t be good. I mean, Allan _was_ working with those vampires. And what I’ve dug up on the broker makes him sound like a real scumbag, Faith.”

Speaking of things Allan had hoped to buy… Faith glanced around the room. “You take your books to Giles?” They weren’t on his desk or anywhere else in the office.

Faith was an experienced fighter. She’d patrolled cemeteries, docks, and warehouses in two cities. And she still shrank away from the lethal look the Mayor gave her. “Faith, I’m going to say this one final time, and then we will never bring it up again.”

She’d never heard that tone in his voice and never wanted to again. Pressing back into the chair, Faith tried to fold into herself. To get away from his anger.

“I do not work for the Council. Neither do you. You work for me. If I had wanted you to take my Books to Mr. Giles, I would have told you to do so. I did not. You will not mention the Council again and I would prefer that you not have anything to do with anyone from your former life.” The Mayor paused and pinned Faith with his gaze. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” The acknowledgement sounded strangled. That’s the way Faith felt. The Mayor’s anger wrapped around her in tight bands. What would he do if he found out that she’d spent the morning with Tara?

It didn’t matter. Faith was _never_ telling him. She forced herself straight, and met his eyes. “Sorry, Boss. Guess I ain’t used to being out of the House yet. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t, Faith. We have a lot of work to do here; there’s a very important meeting coming up, and I’ll need you to be on your game.” Richard extracted a set of keys from his pocket and locked his desk drawers. “Now, it’s been a very long day. Meetings after meetings. It’s all I do. I’d like to go home and put my feet up. I need you to get those schedules complete and tomorrow I’ll give you the details on this shipment Allan arranged so you can make the pick-up for me.”

Schedule maker and personal shopper. It was a letdown from superhero and Slayer. Faith gripped the folders in her hands tightly. This was what she’d signed on for, and Richard was right. She had to move on. The Council was her past. The Mayor was her future. “I’ll walk ya’ out; make sure you get home safe.”

“You take protecting me very seriously.” Wrapping an arm around Faith, Richard walked toward the door. “It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.”

He was making fun of her, Faith thought. Until she saw his approving smile. “That’s why you hired me. I’m not gonna let nothin’ happen to you.” She relaxed against him. “Doing schedules is just a bonus.”

The Mayor’s booming laugh echoed in the empty lobby. “You are such a wonderful girl, Faith. Bright, funny, devoted to me. What more could I ask for?”

Faith didn’t know so she didn’t bother to answer. She basked in his compliments and let him steer her outside, where a car idled at the curb.

“This is my ride. Hop in. We’ll drop you off, too.” Richard trotted down the stairs with a burst of energy.

“Nah, I’m good, Boss.” Faith wanted to take another look around. And, now that they were outside, she felt more vampires in the area. Not right around the corner. The pull on her senses was too faint for that. Close enough to make Faith worry, though. Was there another group planning to break in? She needed to find out what they wanted.  “And I want to get started on the schedules.” Eventually.

A driver got out of the car and opened the back door for the Mayor. “Don’t stay out too late, Faith. I need you bright eyed and bushy-tailed for work tomorrow. I’ll expect you here by 9:00 in the morning.”

Better than the crack of dawn meetings Wes had wanted. “I’ll be there.” She waited at the curb until the car was out of sight and then jogged back down the alley. The side door was unlocked, just as she’d left it, allowing Faith back into City Hall.

“Even Giles has better security,” she bitched. No guards, no alarms. And locks any two-year old in her old neighborhood could pick. It was easier to find the light switch this time, but the view hadn’t changed. Junk. That was the only thing in the room.

Or was it?

Wandering slowly past a stack of battered boxes, Faith noticed one section of the concrete floor was discolored. It also didn’t fit flush with the rest of the flooring. And what concrete slab came with hinges along one edge and a worn crevasse on the opposite side that looked suspiciously like a hand hold?

The back of Faith’s neck prickled. This was not good. Questioning her sanity, Faith nonetheless reached down and lifted the trap door open. It moved easily and silently. Someone used it often and kept it well maintained. A metal ladder descended from the storage room into a tunnel below. Pushing her senses outward, Faith didn’t feel anything in the vicinity.

She started to climb down and then reconsidered. Her only weapon was a dagger, and she had no backup. If she went into the tunnel and ran into trouble, there was a good chance Faith wouldn’t make it out. Faith needed to be smart. She needed a plan. For now… Closing the trap door, Faith stacked crates and boxes over the door. No one was getting through here until she was ready for them.  As an added safety measure, she’d hit the hardware store on the way into the office in the morning. A new lock for the door was definitely in order.


	31. Chapter 31

Tara hesitated on the Summers’ front porch. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be in the happiest place on Earth. Not Disneyland. Mickey Mouse was far from Tara’s mind. She longed to be standing outside Faith’s apartment, knowing Faith was kneeling inside and waiting for her. Instead, she reluctantly knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer.

She didn’t wait long. The door opened seconds later, and a tired, rumpled Giles waved her inside. “If I may be so bold, you look as tired as I feel, my dear.”

Tired was a pale description. Tara didn’t know about her appearance; however, she felt as limp as overcooked noodles. “If anyone ever tells you that teaching is easy, they are lying,” she mumbled. “And teaching budding witches?” Her (mostly) mock shudder drew a smile from Giles. “We _did_ avoid blowing anything up or burning anything down, though.” Barely. Noreen really had a future as a fire starter. “What about you? Any news on the Ascension or why the Mayor made it look like Mr. Finch was working with the vampires?”

“I have found nothing.” His smiled became a tight-lipped grimace. “We have only a few minor references to such an event.” His hand hovered near the small of Tara’s back without actually touching it as he steered her toward the living room. “Willow has been working on the computer.”

“Not really your thing, is it?” Tara asked at the disdain in his voice on the final word.

Expression becoming sheepish, Giles shook his head. “Information gleaned from invisible sources stored on invisible shelves inside a piece of electronic equipment? Most certainly not.”

“Because ancient texts written by poorly-educated men or religious fanatics – many of whom lived in isolation from the outside world – are more reliable.” Some of Tara’s exhaustion lifted as she teased Giles. “That’s a mature attitude for the Senior Watcher in town,” she continued as they walked into Research Central for the night.

Lydia, far more relaxed than the last time Tara had met her, glanced up from the book on her lap. “It is a shared psychosis, Tara. The first year of classes at the Watcher Academy is devoted to the hatred and dismissal of anything written or invented after the twelfth century.”

“It’s a miracle they drive,” Joyce chimed in. She winked at Tara and patted the cushion next to her in invitation.

Then Buffy jumped on the Giles Bashing Train. “If you’d ever see his car, Tara… It’s slower than any horse and buggy. You could walk faster than he drives. I think it’s his rebellion against the evils of automobiles.”

Laughter lightened the previously somber mood of the room. Tara felt happier than she had since leaving Faith’s apartment as she dropped onto the couch next to Joyce, curling her legs to one side. “Rebellion? I don’t believe it. Mr. Giles is the epitome of tradition and respectability.”

“You are so smooth, Ru. You’ve got the poor girl completely snowed.” The movement of Lydia’s lips was so small and brief, it was unclear if Lydia was smiling or suffering from an involuntary facial twitch. “When we are finished with this interminable research, you must tell her about your days as Ripper. At least then Tara will know you are not the stuffed-shirt you so aptly portray.”

“Not stuffed,” Tara protested. “Just a little starched.”

Giles bowed his head briefly in Tara’s direction before making a deeper obeisance for his Dominant. “As soon as this is over, my Lady, I assure you I shall regale Tara with the story of my misspent youth.”

Brushing his shoulder with her fingers, Lydia helped him take a seat on the floor next to her chair. “Until then, it’s back to work for the lot of us. I reached out to some schoolmates from my Academy days. They’ve begun a comprehensive search of all Council resources for the Ascension. Oliver, one of my oldest and dearest, called me this morning. The only thing he’s uncovered so far is a reference to an Ascension related to a demon named Lo-Hash. It’s a very ancient text from the Ural region, and Oliver’s mastery of the Uralic languages is far from impressive. He’s hunting down an expert to provide the most accurate interpretation.”

As Lydia spoke, Willow’s fingers danced across her keyboard. She picked up where Lydia left off. “We may not need Oliver’s information. There’s some stuff on Lo-Hash online.”

Tara noticed it wasn’t only Giles who stiffened at the word “online.” Lydia wasn’t as accepting as she’d pretended.

“It’s all scattered and in pieces across a dozen sites. Even I don’t trust some of them. I mean, who thinks Brad Pitt is really vampire?” Willow rolled her eyes and waved her hands in the air. “Some people need a reality check.”

Willow needed one, too. It was late. Tara was tired. “What about Lo-Hash?” If things continued in this vein, she’d have a reputation for being a real bitch. Tara rubbed both hands over her face and concentrated on relaxing, one muscle at a time.

“Oh, right. Lo-Hash was this really big demon. Like Lydia said, it popped up in the Urals a few centuries ago.” Willow’s chipper tone indicated she either hadn’t noticed Tara’s snippy attitude or she was used to that reaction to her long-winded explanations. “It’s pretty normal. Big demon. Tiny, unprepared city. Put the two together and you have complete destruction.” She sat upright on the floor, tapped a few keys, and spun the laptop around. A full-screen drawing of a four-winged beast resembling a Chinese dragon displayed.

“How does that help us, Will?” Buffy leaned her head against Xander’s knees. At her unspoken signal, he reached down and massaged her shoulders. “We’ve fought all kinds of demons. I haven’t seen one that looks like that, but what’s the big deal? Decapitation is easy with the right blade.”

Willow channeled Janna long enough to pin Buffy with a cool stare. “I wasn’t finished.”

“Oops. My bad.” Buffy met Willow’s eyes and stuck out her tongue. “It’s hard to tell, with you jumping from point to point. Brad Pitt? Snakes? I got confused. Can you break it down for me? Please, Will?” Her attempt at Xander’s puppy dog expression was comical.

“Xander Lavelle Harris, I thought I told you not to teach her that.” Joyce pointed a finger at a grinning Xander. “It’s pathetic – and not in a good way. Dominants should command, not beg.” Going against her own advice, she turned to Willow. “Please, please get us back on track and tell us about Lo-Hash.”

What was wrong with her? Despite joking with Giles when she arrived, Tara couldn’t get in step with the group. Their laughter rubbed on her already raw nerves. If she wasn’t a paid member of the research team. If Faith wasn’t somehow involved. For an instant, Tara longed for the days of hiding in her dorm room with only Maxie and Trish for occasional company.

“Before Lo-Hash was a church-sized demon eating up the people in the village, two of the sites I found claim he was a sorcerer. A run-of-the-mill evil magic-user who became a demon.” All of Willow’s laughter was gone when she announced, “One of the online writers called the process ‘The Ascension’. Supposedly, it’s when a human completes this long, complicated ritual and becomes a demon.”

“So…And, Will, feel free to step if I’ve got it all wrong.” Xander’s massage had turned into a white-knuckled grip on Buffy’s shoulder. “The Mayor of Sunnydale is looking for a set of books about this ritual thing? You know, the one you just mentioned? The one where he becomes a demon and eats us all?”

Spinning her laptop to its original position, Willow nodded slowly. “You’re all with the right, Xan. Sorry.” She cleared her throat and shifted uneasily on the carpet. “It gets worse. I think. Um…I did some more digging through the City Hall main frame this afternoon,” Willow announced. Tara idly noted that Willow’s attention was once again locked onto her computer. It was a wise move. Janna’s expression indicated she was far from happy with Willow’s actions. “Something isn’t right. More than the emails I found last night.” In defiance of her usual information dump, she fell silent.

No one said anything this time.

Why not? In the short time Tara had known Willow, the younger girl had pushed the envelope over and over. Verbally with Faith. Magically, according to Xander. Now with the computer. Janna clearly had her hands full. The group in the living room couldn’t be surprised by the tension that appeared to have sprung up between Janna and Willow. But they needed answers. Now. Until Janna shut Willow down completely, she offered the only real hope they had. “What else did you find?” A little of her impatience leaked into the question, and Willow’s head snapped up.

“Answers. Yeah. I didn’t find a lot of those. Questions, though…I got those in spades. Whatever that means. Spades are little shovels or those things on playing cards.” Willow’s voice was thin and tight as she rambled and tapped repetitively at one key on her laptop.

She might have continued all night if Janna hadn’t scooted closer and gently kissed the side of her head. “Easy, _dragᾰ._ Stay focused for a minute. There will be plenty of time for spades and cards later.” She took the laptop from Willow’s lap and set it on the floor behind her. “Come here. This sounds like a very unhappy story, and I need to hold you. It makes me feel better.”

_Faith was warm and soft in Tara’s arms. Nuzzling the back of Faith’s neck, Tara enjoyed the mix of sweat and the spice of Faith’s skin. Tara shifted in discomfort. Goddess, she needed more. She needed Faith. But this…This was a close second to ordering Faith to take a spot between Tara’s thighs. Tara tightened her hold on Faith. Let the feel of Faith pressed against her soak into her soul._

With a start, Tara snapped back to reality and stared in confusion at the hand on her thigh. “Honey, are you alright?” Joyce asked in a soft voice. She observed Tara intently.

“I’m f-fine.” Perfect. The stutter. Shrinking away, Tara curled more tightly into the corner of the couch. She had to pull herself together.

Joyce’s eyes narrowed. Luckily, Willow had calmed down enough to resume her explanation regarding the emails. “The Mayor created a few emails linking the Deputy Mayor to Balthazar, but there were more. A lot more. And these were from the real Allan Finch. I didn’t have a chance to read all of them, but the ones I did are from Finch to Balthazar’s Head Vampire Vincent. Finch wasn’t there that night to kill you or Faith, Buffy. He was there to ask for your help.”

“What do you mean?” Giles was the first to respond. He sat forward. “We assumed the Eliminati were here to retrieve Balthazar’s amulet, to restore him to power. What would they want with you, Buffy?”

“That’s the $64,000 question.” Buffy hopped up and began pacing in front of the fireplace. “None of this makes sense.” Tara wondered if Buffy was talking to her audience or herself. “We have a demon and his minions looking for an amulet. A Deputy Mayor helping them – but not trying to kill us. A Mayor who lies more than most politicians and likes books about becoming a demon. It doesn’t fit together.”

Actually, it did. It made a terrible kind of puzzle. “What if Finch knew that the Mayor was going to use the Books of Ascension to become Lo-Hash, and he was using Balthazar to keep that from happening?” Tara linked her fingers in her lap and fought the urge to run to Faith’s apartment. If she was right, and the Mayor was evil, Faith was in danger.

“Then we need those Books,” Buffy answered. “How about it, Giles? Will the Council spring for a new set of expensive demon encyclopedias?”

“I have sent the request to Quentin; he has yet to respond.” Giles removed his glasses, idly toying with the earpieces. “I fear we do not have the time to wait for him to decide we are worthy of his attention. Lydia…?”

“I agree, pet. Buffy, you’ll have the money as soon as the banks open in the morning.” Lydia yawned and stood. “Forgive me. I have an early appointment at UCLA. Rupert, do try to get at least a few minutes of sleep.” She kissed the top of his head before striding out of the room.

Giles gazed after her; Tara understood his suddenly bereft expression. She was sure she’d worn it all afternoon. “Willow,” he finally said, “there is one piece of evidence we are missing. Why would Balthazar work with Deputy Mayor Finch? If Tara’s theory is correct, I understand Mr. Finch’s motivation. Demons rarely ally with humans, however. Does your internet tell you that?”

***

The lights from her apartment provided just enough light for Faith to read the work schedules the Mayor had provided. She’d chosen a spot on the roof, rather than inside. Inside still carried Tara’s image. The jump rope, sliced into halves and partially knotted, lay under the plant-less chain.   
  
No way could Faith concentrate on anything other than the feel of the rope against her wrists and Tara’s fingers on her skin inside. She’d dragged the couch cushions and a blanket to the roof to complete her work for the Mayor. And work it was. The schedules made no sense. Faith had toured City Hall once. That single exposure provided enough knowledge to understand that the security grid didn’t have holes. It had football field-sized gaps. The Mayor employed only six guards (some of them merely part-timers) to cover a 24/7 schedule. One guard manned the front desk during regular business hours. Two others worked a mid-shift on alternating days, providing relief for the front desk and perimeter sweeps every hour.  
  
Except...Faith had never seen them “sweep” near the Mayor’s office. In fact, she’d never seen them anywhere _other_ than the front desk.   
  
The final two employees normally worked the evenings and overnight. Both were on vacation for the rest of the month. “Fucking stupid.” Taking one of the blank schedules she’d made after barricading the tunnel, Faith split the uncovered hours between the two part-time guards. They’d have to work overtime, but everyone needed extra cash, right?

Making schedules wasn’t hard at all. Faith had anticipated an all-night cram session. Instead, it had taken fifteen minutes. 

Flipping through the rest of the schedule pile, Faith checked out the past guard assignments. They couldn’t be right. She flattened out her blanket and spread the schedules along the surface in date order. Six months ago, there had been twenty members of the security team. Twenty. And they’d been assigned in overlapping shifts to specific locations within City Hall. Each month since then, however, the number of names on the calendars dropped. Twenty, fifteen, twelve. Between December and February, eight guards had quit or been fired. Of the guards who remained, half of them were on lengthy vacations, if the notes in the files were accurate.

Faith was going to have to hire more guards. And, distaste for research and fact-finding aside, she needed to know why the original crew had shrunk – and why no one had hired replacements. It wasn’t normal. Faith leaned back and stared at the stars. There was a tunnel into City Hall reeking of vampires. The Mayor’s Security staff was so tiny it barely covered business hours without a lot of overtime. It all added up to one thing in Faith’s mind: badness.

Badness which had obviously involved Deputy Mayor Finch. Somehow Faith had to get the Mayor to understand the danger he was in. She jammed the papers into their folders and climbed back into the apartment, leaving the cushions and blankets behind. Unease crawled through her. The same cold, slimy feeling Faith had gotten every time her bedroom door had inched open and another john had come to visit. Something was very wrong at City Hall.

How could Faith fix it? If Willow was around, she’d be all over the research. She’d know how to find why the guards left. Giles would have already called some Council connections to get qualified candidates for the open guard positions. And Faith and Buffy would have tested them out on the mats.

Faith would have to do all of that on her own.

The large apartment echoed with emptiness. Ignoring that - and the questions whirling through her mind - Faith wrapped her hands in the brightly colored cotton bands the Mayor had stocked near the heavy bag. The first punch landed, and the bag swung wildly. The chain jangled.

It was familiar. Familiar and exactly what Faith needed. She swung without thought or plan. The bag was only a bag. It wasn’t painted with a faux demon’s face. There were no bull’s eyes marking the best kill spots. Feet and hands constantly in motion, Faith let her worry over the schedules, the Mayor, and Tara slip away. She’d figure out what to do in the morning.


	32. Chapter 32

Faith’s hands ached pleasantly as she exited the hardware store with her new door lock installation kit. Taking time for last night’s workout had been smart. She’d needed to blow off a little steam. Everything seemed better and brighter today. She had a job that was way better than her last. A boss who cared about her. Life was good.

There was even enough time left before her meeting with the Mayor for some breakfast. Breakfast meant only one thing: doughnuts.

Still… Why mess with perfection? Faith bypassed the doughnut shop in case anyone from the House was there.  The perfect day took a slight turn toward crappy. Doughnuts meant maybe meeting Tara again. But Tara was part of the Council now. The Mayor had been very clear the night before. No contact with anyone connected to her former job.

Clouds blew in and the sun disappeared. The day now matched Faith’s spiraling mood.

Picking up her pace, Faith hoped the rain held off until she got to work. She’d grab something to eat after her meeting with the Mayor. By the time she unveiled the complete security plan she’d created before Slaying her heavy bag, it would be lunchtime. The doughnut place would be closed. Faith had never seen Tara at the DMP. Eating there would be safe.

Her stomach rumbled, and Faith started planning lunch. As soon as she wowed the Mayor with the schedules, she’d call Willow. It would be easy to con Tara’s number out of her.

A couple of Doublemeat Meat Medleys for her and a chicken sandwich or…a salad! Tara seemed like a salad girl.

What the Hell was Faith doing? She wasn’t going to call Willow. And she wasn’t going to drag greasy food across Sunnydale like she was on some kind of date with Tara. Fuck! She was losing her mind over some (admittedly) great sex.

The front door to City Hall nearly came off its hinges as Faith slammed it open and grunted at the guard at the desk. Her rapid footsteps echoed on the marble floor. “Mornin’, Joan.” Shoving all thoughts of sex and dates aside, Faith put her plan in motion the second she entered the Mayor’s office. The Mayor was counting on her. Keeping him safe was her new job. Tara and the Council were Faith’s past.

A memory of Tara’s blue eyes, lit from behind with passion and Dominance, nearly derailed her. Tara had very much been Faith’s _present_ the day before. She had to try and shake the memories off, though. “The Boss said you could get me some files? I’m lookin’ for new guards.” Faith walked over to the window behind Joan’s desk and stared desperately down onto the street below. _“Go away,_ she pleaded. _“Just fucking go away,”_ she told that vision of Tara. Faith had made her decision. It was too late to go back. No matter how much Faith was attracted to Tara, any relationship with her was a bad idea.

Slowly, painfully, the memory of Tara faded. Faith leaned against the window as rain pelted the glass in staccato bursts.

“We do have a few applications on file. Not many, I’m afraid. Are you sure you want me to get those?” Faith turned away from the window in time to see Joan grimace. “I used to help with staffing decisions, and those men…” Her voice lowered and she glanced around as if to make sure they were alone. “Honey, those men were scary. Not good scary, like you’d want to take them home and let them you tie you up. No. These made me want to hide under my desk and call the police. Prison tattoos and thousand-yard stares. A couple of them were Red Cuffs.” If her voice dropped any lower, even Slayer hearing wouldn’t be enough to distinguish her next comment. “I wondered if they’d _caused_ those Red Cuffs. That’s how horrible they were.”

How had Faith ever thought this day was good? If the guys looking for a job were prison scum, it would put a big kink in her plans. She’d hoped to simply hire all of the applicants in Joan’s filing cabinet. “I’ll take a look anyway.” Joan was nice – and human; she wasn’t a Slayer. Scary took on a different meaning when you fought vampires and demons on a nightly basis. Maybe Joan just didn’t like anyone with ink or a Red Cuff. “Think you could have ‘em ready soon? I just need to give the Boss some info and I’ll be right back.” If she was lucky, Faith might have the first new guard hired before lunch.

“Sure. You go on in. The Mayor said you’d be stopping by. Just so you know, he’s on a call with Mr. Trick, some local businessman who’s been doing consulting work for the City.” Joan waved Faith toward the door. “I’ll grab those file right now. If I’m not here, I’ll leave them on my desk.”

“Thanks.” Faith straightened the collar of her shirt and wiped suddenly sweaty hands on her jeans before opening the door. She’d put a lot of effort into the guard schedules and her security plan. If the Mayor didn’t like them, what was she going to do? Unlike her usual grand entrance, Faith crept quietly into the office.

The Mayor didn’t see her. He sat with his back to the door, handset pinned between his head and his left shoulder. Both hands waved excitedly in the air. “Yes, yes. I know it’s risky. I knew that when I recruited her. The advantages outweighed the possible danger.”

Even though Joan had indicated Faith had permission to enter, this didn’t feel right. Faith hovered near the door. She shouldn’t be here, listening to the Mayor’s conversation.

“Look, Trick, it’s done. I’ll take care of the entrance. Last night was a mistake. I’ll get everything cleared up before the ritual tonight.”

Ritual? Was the Mayor attending one of the House witch-y classes? Faith didn’t think he seemed the type. He’d always been pretty anti-Council.

The Mayor fell silent again, and Faith saw his shoulders stiffen. “Now you listen here, I don’t care about Balthazar. I beat him once; I can do it again. He’s next to useless without that stupid amulet anyway. Faith said she and that blonde Slayer stole it from the Eliminati. No one, not even a Watcher, would hand that over to a demon. I’m sure it’s safely locked up or on a plane to Scotland to be studied.”

How did the Mayor know all that about Balthazar? Faith didn’t remember him ever asking Giles about it, and _they’d_ never talked about it. With a mental shrug, she let it go. The Mayor didn’t tell her everything, and he’d mentioned before how he knew a lot about Sunnydale. He sure as Hell had a good grasp of the way the Council worked. Faith smirked, imagining Giles and Wes carefully packaging the amulet for a trip to the International Headquarters. It would be wrapped in so much bubble wrap they’d have to use a refrigerator box.

“Now, I have to go. Faith should be here soon.” Actually, Faith was already here. The Mayor would know that as soon as he turned around. “It’s time I brought her fully on board, but I need a little more time. More leverage.” The Mayor gripped the handset in his left hand and straightened in his chair. “I’m still working out the details, but I want her at the ritual tonight. She needs to see all of the changes. I’ll have the rest of the plan worked out by then. Yes. I know that. I’ll see you tonight.” He turned and spotted Faith.

Faith shivered. His smile failed to warm her this morning. In fact, there was something… She ignored the shiver that worked up her spine. “Hey, Boss. Got those schedules you wanted.”

“How long have you been here?” Steepling his fingers under his chin, the Mayor regarded Faith intently.

“Just got here,” Faith lied, not understanding why she didn’t want the Mayor to know she’d been in his office for part of his conversation. “Joan said to come on in. You’re always on the phone, huh? Don’t think I could do that. Not enough action.” She sounded like Willow and pressed her lips together before more words tumbled out.

For a minute, she didn’t think he believed her. Richard stared at her while Faith fidgeted. “Those calls are a necessary evil. I do miss the chance to get out and do, though. Hopefully, that will all change. I’ve got plans for the future, Faith. Plans that don’t include sitting in this office.” He held out his hand. “Now, about those schedules.”

Walking across the room, Faith handed over her work. She didn’t sit down; she was too nervous. Too on edge.

“These are good. Very good.” The Mayor shuffled through her new security schedule and carefully written plan to hire a dozen more guards. “But I’m afraid it’s out of the question. Sunnydale is not a wealthy city, Faith.” With a sigh, he put down the file and rubbed a hand over his face. “I told you last night that I didn’t have the budget for much hiring.”

He had. Faith thought it was strange, though, based on the earlier schedules. “What happened? I saw the other lists. Used to be bunches of guards.”

Her question surprised the Mayor. Faith saw his eyes widen and then he dropped to the files on his desk. “Yes. There used to be many more.” The long silences really sucked. Faith gripped the back of one of the chairs, right leg wiggling. “I really hadn’t expected such a comprehensive report.”

Why didn’t the Mayor seem happy about her work? Dread coiled so tightly inside Faith she was glad she hadn’t eaten. “You…you like it, though, right?” Her voice got lost in the large office. “I mean, I get not havin’ a lot of money. How many you think I could hire?” She could redo the schedule. The overlap would be smaller, sure, but at least the Mayor would be safer.

“Let me check with the people down in finance, Faith.” God, the Mayor was still upset. The stilted cadence to his speech was nothing like his usual cheerful delivery. “I think we may simply have a miscommunication about your duties – which I plan to clear up tonight.”

Tonight. The ritual Faith had overheard him talking about. “You got a dinner or somethin’?”

“I do,” he responded and then immediately clarified. “We do, actually. I’d really like for you to be here. I’m working on a very special project, and the next couple of months are critical. You’ll play a big part in our success or failure, Faith. I’m relying on you.”

“Whatever you need. I’m your girl, Boss.” Faith met his eyes squarely. He still trusted her. He still _needed_ her. “If I ain’t gonna be interviewing for the security jobs, you got anything else?”

Picking up the baseball from the special holder on his desk, the Mayor appeared thoughtful. “You know, maybe there is. It isn’t really your area of expertise, but I think you’ll be able to handle this.”

Excitement bubbled through Faith’s veins. She leaned forward, waiting for the Mayor to explain the new job.

“Someone’s been hacking into the City Hall computer. I’ve got a friend in town who’s a whiz at computers. Not me.” The Mayor’s grin briefly reappeared. “I’m old fashioned; communication should be face to face. Mr. Trick,” Faith recognized the name Joan had mentioned, “has been tracking down the identity of the hacker. I’m sure you’re familiar with Ms. Willow Rosenberg.”

“Willow?” No way. “Why’s she messing with your computers?”

“I was hoping you could find out, Faith.” He stopped tossing the ball in the air and leaned forward. “To be honest, I’m worried about her. Mr. Trick thought your Willow was only looking for information to clear you of Allan’s murder.”

Faith took an involuntary step back.

“Hey!” The Mayor noticed the movement. “None of that. I know you didn’t kill him on purpose. He was one of the bad guys.”

Right. It had been an accident. And Finch had deserved it. One day, Faith would stop jumping every time his name came up.

“As I was saying, I thought Willow was only trying to get information on Allan. I was all for that, Faith. Anyone looking out for my Slayer is OK by me.” Richard shook his head sadly. “Then Trick realized she’d continued to hunt through all of our computers. Every program and system. He got very technical; he’s excited by that sort of thing. This Willow has been looking at _everything,_ ” Moving aside the files Faith had given him, the Mayor pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Faith took it and scanned the information. “What is it?”

“It’s a…a trail of sorts. A list of all the places Willow managed to hack into.” Richard got up and came around his desk. “You know this girl. Has she done this sort of thing before?”

“Yeah. She’s kinda the head researcher at the House. I mean, Giles’s got all the books and shit, but Willow uses her computer. She and Giles used to argue. Old dusty books versus the Internet.” Faith didn’t think anyone had won the debate.

“She uses a computer for research. She’s researching _me_? Does she think Allan wasn’t the only one allied with vampires?” Richard’s expression was appalled. “Faith, you have to get her to stop. Talk to her. Do whatever you have to do, but you have to get her to stop!”

***

Tara staggered into the kitchen. Goddess, how could it be morning already? She’d just gotten to sleep three hours ago. Maxie gave her a wide birth, clutching her bowl of cereal protectively to her chest. “I’m not going to steal your breakfast, Maxie.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Maxie eyed Tara warily. “Have you slept at all? Eaten? You look like Hell.”

“Max!” Trish’s rebuke would have carried more weight if she hadn’t nodded agreement with each of Maxie’s comments. “Be nice or Tara might turn you into a frog.”

Everyone was a comedian. “Not a frog.” Yuck. “Maxie the Rat has a nice ring to it.” Stomping to the refrigerator, Tara snagged a yogurt. There was granola in a nearby cabinet. She got all settled at the table – and didn’t have a spoon.

“I’ll get it.” Proving she was an amazing friend, Maxie hopped up and retrieved the missing utensil.

“You’re the best, Maxie.” Tara dumped granola into the yogurt cup. “Trish is all wrong about you. All wrong.” Taking her first bite, Tara thought she might live. She just wasn’t sure that she wanted to.

“I know I’m all that, Tar. Trish does, too, when I’m not being a brat.” Maxie winked at Trish, who crossed her arms over her chest and wiggled an eyebrow. “Which is most of the time, I admit. Now that we all acknowledge my greatness, want to tell us what’s been going on with you?”

Absolutely not. Tara had no desire to talk about the last few days. “I’ve been working at the House. There’s some big demon they think is headed our way. Late nights researching. I’m beat; I think I finally got home about six this morning.”

The explanation should have worked. Unfortunately for Tara, Trish had a gift for sensing prevarication. “You can’t have been working since yesterday morning. I saw you on campus yesterday. And, Tara? You looked even worse then. Is it the bond? Is Faith still in trouble?”

“Yes. Yes, to all of that. But that isn’t why I w-was so ups-set.” Tara reluctantly admitted. “I…I scened yesterday. Before you saw me.”

She saw Maxie and Trish exchange glances. “You know, your first scene rarely goes right.” Trish reached across the table and gently touched Tara’s arm. “I’m sure it wasn’t as big a disaster as you think.”

If only they knew. “The scene went fine.” Tara shoved the yogurt out of the way and dropped her head to the table. “It was more than fine. It was wonderful. Perfect. I never wanted it to end.” She could feel Trish and Maxie staring at her, their confusion a phantom pressure on the top of her head.

After a couple of minutes, Trish ventured a hesitant, “Do you feel guilty? Because you weren’t with Faith?”

“No,” Tara mumbled into the table. Was there a spell that would let her sink through the floor? She didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to relive, again, the best and worst moments of her life.

“Help us out here, Tar.” Trish, for all her usual levity, sounded out of patience. “Tell us what happened.”

Maxie did Trish one better. Tara heard her get up and then a tiny hand smacked into the back of her head.

“Ouch!” OK. It hadn’t really hurt. It was the principal of the matter. Tara’s head shot up. “You’re going to let her get away with that?” she asked Trish.

“Absolutely. You’re lucky Maxie got there first. I’d have hit you harder. Stop being a wimp and tell us what happened. We’re your friends. If you can’t admit all your deep, dark secrets to us, who _can_ you talk to?” Trish pointed out logically.

Trish’s logic – and her friendship – trumped Tara’s confusion and growing embarrassment. “It wasn’t the scene that was the problem. It was…It was the submissive. When I tried to hold her afterward, she pushed me away.” And Goddess, it still hurt. Tara struggled against tears. She’d cried far too much yesterday.

“Did she say…” Maxie started to prod for details.

Tara cut her off. “It wasn’t some sub I picked up at the Club.” She lost the battle with the tears. “It was Faith. I scened with Faith but she didn’t want me to stay afterward.”


	33. Chapter 33

“Oh, Tara. That’s awful!” Trish pulled Tara into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. Is she going to repudiate the bond? I didn’t even know you’d managed to break through and connect with her. Did she say anything? Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you can change her mind.”

The hug felt good. Better when Maxie joined in and grabbed Tara from behind. But Tara couldn’t hide away, no matter how much she wanted to. “Faith can’t repudiate what isn’t there,” she mumbled into Trish’s shoulder. Sitting up, she met Trish’s eyes. “I knew she didn’t feel the bond, and I went back to her place anyway.”

She’d expected a reaction. Disgust. Disappointment. Something. Trish surprised her. There was no judgment at all, only understanding. “Did you think being with her would make the bond happen?”

Had she? “I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t thinking much at all.” All she remembered was _feeling_. She’d been connected with Faith even without the bond.

“Tara.” Trish raised an eyebrow as if Tara was a sub under her command.

A trickle of amusement pushed its way forward. “I’ve got one of those, too.” Suiting actions to words, Tara let her own eyebrow rise. “Put it away, please.” Needing to move, she stood and paced in the tiny kitchen. “I’ll talk.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Trish grinned and motioned for Maxie to climb into her lap.

It gave Tara time to pull her scattered thoughts together. “I’ve done a lot of thinking,” she told her audience. “Going to Faith’s yesterday was a mistake, but I don’t regret it. It was my fault, what happened at the end. I forgot. She was so amazing, so _perfect_ , and I forgot that she didn’t feel the bond.

“I was waiting for my ‘happily ever after’.” It sounded trite when she said it out loud, yet it had been so real in her imagination.

_Faith’s skin was tacky with drying sweat. It gripped Tara’s fingers as she rubbed them up and down Faith’s arms. “You were perfect, my Slayer.” Reaching through the link was pointless; Tara did it anyway. Pushing outward, she expected to run into a barrier…_

_It wasn’t there. It was gone. Hardly daring to hope, she froze – and felt Faith’s chuckle tickle her mind._

Neither Trish nor Maxie spoke. Tara was thankful. “The bond isn’t complete. That was my first clue that Faith isn’t ready. I just have to figure out why.” Tara thought she knew at least part of the answer. Faith had given her several clues yesterday; if only Tara hadn’t been too emotional to put the pieces together.

This time, when Tara stopped speaking, Maxie stepped in to fill the void. “You _are_ going to let us help, right?” Huddling into Trish’s arms, she peered uncertainly between Trish and Tara. “I can call John back. If you want.”

“Maxine,” Trish warned immediately, and Maxie dropped her head.

“It’s OK, Trish.” Tara walked over and gently touched Maxie’s slumped shoulder. “In normal circumstances, John might be able to tell us something useful. Unfortunately, I don’t trust the Council reports to tell us the truth. At least, not any part of the Council in Faith’s past. I’ve only met one Watcher who seems to care about Faith.” Tara nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of that statement. She’d met a total of two Watchers in her life. Wyndham-Pryce and Giles. “I have an appointment to talk with him this morning.”

“You’re going to tell him about the bond?” Trish appeared concerned. “Are you sure?”

No, Tara wasn’t sure. She’d wrestled with the decision since leaving Faith’s apartment. “I have to.” The truth was simple. For some reason, Faith wasn’t ready for the bond. If Tara was ever going to understand, she had to talk to Giles.

***

Simple wasn’t actually so simple, though. Tara’s confidence was missing later as she sat across from Giles in his office. “Please relax, Tara. I promise, I am still the same handsome, charming man you met at the Social. I have had far too little sleep, and not nearly enough tea, to change into my ogre persona.” Giles got up and came around the desk, taking the chair right next to Tara. “Please, tell me what is bothering you. Perhaps I can help.”

“I’m n-not here about me,” Tara told him. She’d never have the courage to meet with Giles because of her own problems. “I’m here about Faith.”

Giles straightened. “Did you speak to her? Is she well?”

That little bit of concern for Faith… This was the right thing to do. Tara took a deep breath and began. “I spent time with Faith yesterday, Mr. Giles. But that’s not why I’m here. Not really.” The more Tara talked, the closer she got to the point of no return. She’d done that a lot recently: telling Trish and Maxi about her past, taking the Trial, learning to be a Dominant. Despite her initial fears, those big steps had been the right ones.

So was this. “Mr. Giles, Faith is my submissive.” The words crackled with possession and pride. Tara may have admitted the bond to her friends and to Joyce. This time was different. This was the first time she’d openly made the admission by choice.

“Dear Lord.” She’d clearly surprised him. “Congratulations, my dear. That’s wonderful news.” Giles recovered quickly, and his beaming smile warmed her. She’d been right to come today. Unlike Wes, Giles _did_ care about Faith.

“There’s more,” she warned him. “The bond isn’t complete.” His smile disappeared as Tara continued. “Faith can’t feel it, and I can’t feel her most of the time. Only when she’s very afraid or angry, like the night she killed Deputy Mayor Finch.”

Giles watched Tara intently. “You obviously believe I can help in some fashion.”

“With the bond? No, Mr. Giles. That’s up to Faith.” Tara had to believe that. “But I saw the way Mr. Wyndham-Pryce treated her, and Faith said some things yesterday. I need to understand why everyone, Faith included, thinks she’s not good enough to be a Slayer.” It went against the grain to give out such personal information to anyone, let alone a submissive. Tara forced herself to tell Giles the rest, though. “And maybe you can tell me why Faith begged me not to _hit_ her or tie her down.”

Removing his glasses, Giles rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes. “The Council will never authorize me to release Faith’s files until your bond is officially registered.”

“I don’t care about the official reports. If I wanted those, I would already have had them.” Tara wouldn’t betray Maxie’s contact at the Council. She _would,_ however, use that connection as leverage. “I want to know what _you_ know about Faith.”

“Ah, that is a problem, Tara.” The earpieces on Giles’ glasses might never be the same. He twisted and pulled on them as he spoke. “Faith does not speak about her past. Ever.”

Tara wasn’t accepting his answer. “Tell me what you _do_ know,” she ordered.

Giles sat up at her tone, eyes dropping for an instant before he recovered. “I know nothing for certain. What I do have is conjecture at best.”

Raising one eyebrow very slowly, Tara waited.

“Right. Yes.” Clearing his throat, Giles shoved his glasses back on. “Faith’s original Watcher was killed by an old, very powerful vampire. When she arrived here, I naturally assumed her attitude was simply her way of grieving for Diana.”

“You changed your mind?” Tara honed in on Giles’ careful phrasing – and poked at it.

“Very quickly,” Giles admitted. “If you spend any time with Faith, some things become obvious. She rebels against rules and authority.” He smiled for a moment. “In that respect, she reminded me very much of myself. However, I do not believe Faith is merely a rebel.”

***

Faith lurked beneath the main staircase of Sunnydale High School and watched the students pour into the hallway. Lunchtime on Wednesday.

Quitting time for Willow. Faith knew she usually headed straight to the House unless Giles had her working on something special. Seconds later, Faith saw Willow bounce down the hallway, babbling at Xander. He wore a glazed expression, indicating Willow had been talking non-stop for a while.

Keeping an eye out for Principal Snyder and her senses peeled for Buffy, Faith slipped into the throng of students. The flow of bodies carried her in the same direction as her target. Faith made sure to loiter near a locker, though, until Xander managed to gain his freedom from Willow and hurry away.

His escape coincided with the ringing bell. Locker doors slammed and tennis shoes squeaked on linoleum as stragglers sprinted for classes or hurried to the cafeteria for lunch.

There were two things Faith had learned during her time as a student here. One, the food sucked. And two, the Physical Education teacher doubled as a lunchroom monitor. That meant there were no PE classes in the middle of the day, and the locker room would be empty.

“Hey, Red.” Faith kept her voice casual as she strolled up to Willow.

“What are you doing here? Are you coming back to school? Have you talked with Buffy or Giles about the Mayor?” Faith tuned out most of the words…until Willow mentioned the Mayor.

Looping an arm around Willow’s waist, Faith steered her toward the gymnasium. “That’s kinda why I needed to see ya’.”

“Really?” Faith didn’t understand the relief that flashed across Willow’s face. Or the even more cheerful note in Willow’s voice as she said, “Tara wanted to come talk to you, but Giles told her you might be too mad at us. You aren’t mad?” Tilting her head, she peered up at Faith. “Are you?”

“Ain’t decided yet.” It was the only part of Willow’s comment that made sense. And the only part Faith cared about. “Come on. I don’t want Snyder to find me. You know he don’t like me.” The little troll had threatened to throw her out the first week she’d been enrolled because he’d caught her smoking in the quad.

Willow obligingly picked up her pace until she trotted alongside Faith. They made it safely to the locker room. Faith made sure to close the door and flip the lock. “Just in case,” she told a staring Willow.

“Sure. OK. Although, I don’t think Principal Snyder comes in here. That would be creepy, don’t you think?” Willow smiled and perched on the bench seat running between the rows of lockers.

The room smelled like hair spray and sweaty socks. Wrinkling her nose, Faith prowled the area near the door. The Mayor wanted her to keep Willow from spying on him. How was she supposed to do that? Ask? That wouldn’t work. This was _Willow._ She had to know everything about everyone.

“Don’t we actually have to talk to….um…talk?” Willow asked. Her legs swung back and forth as she watched Faith.

Faith scowled.

Willow’s hands shot up in a sign of surrender. “Sorry. It’s your show. Whenever you’re ready. Just…Janna’s got lunch ready and I’m kinda hungry. We were up really late last night, and Janna forgot to get my favorite doughnuts. So I didn’t have any breakfast.”

Doughnuts. Faith smiled. Doughnuts meant Tara and that tiny table behind the doughnut shop.

Tara was off limits. The thought sent Faith’s already questionable mood plummeting. “Tell me why you’re spyin’ on the Mayor. You been messing with the computers at City Hall.”

“Yeah. We were worried about you,” Willow admitted. Biting her lip, she gazed beseechingly at Faith. “I’m sorry, Faith. I know you were so happy about the new job.”

“Why are you sorry?” The conversation wasn’t going the way Faith had planned. Maybe because she hadn’t planned at all. “Hell, why are you apologizin’ to me? It’s Janna that gets all bent outta shape when you do your hackin’ shit.” Come to think of it, why had Janna allowed Willow to do the hunt through the City Hall systems anyway? She’d been pissed the last time Willow had tried to find information for Buffy using the Internet; she’d been pissed every time Willow had hacked _anything_ in the past.

Willow grimaced comically. “You are so right. She was really mad when she realized there was no other way to get information on the Mayor and the Books of Ascension.”

Faith stiffened and tried to hide her sudden interest. “Thought Giles had all the good stuff in his ‘special’ books?”

"Yeah, that’s what he says.” Rolling her eyes, Willow shrugged. “This time, though, his books had nothing. _I_ found everything for him. Even if Janna wasn’t happy.” Faith wasn’t sure if Willow was talking to her or thumbing her nose at Janna through their bond. “It was awesome, Faith. One minute we’re completely clueless about the Books and why the demon wanted to sell them to Buffy. And the next, I hit the mother lode. The Ascension and Lo-Hash.”

“You’re the best,” Faith muttered, shivering suddenly. The usually sweltering locker room had chilled. “Janna’s gonna have to admit that one day. So what did ya’ find?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. Willow frowned. “I thought you knew. You said you knew.”

Actually, Faith had avoided that question.

Willow stood up slowly and inched away. She’d always been smart.

But it didn’t matter now. Faith stopped pacing and stalked toward Willow. “I _will_ know. Just as soon as you tell me.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” The refusal would have carried more weight if Willow’s voice hadn’t wobbled.

Faith knew she was running out of time. The lunch period would end soon. And she had no doubt Willow had mentally reached out to Janna for help. “You’re gonna tell me everything, Red.” Yanking the knife the Mayor had given her out of its sheath, Faith twisted so that the overhead lights winked off the blade.

“No. No, I’m not.” Willow’s throat moved as she swallowed hard.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Faith advised. She closed the gap between them and pinned Willow to the lockers. “I won’t hurt you…if you talk.” Willow _needed_ to talk. Faith had crossed enough lines. She wasn’t looking to cross any more today.

Unfortunately, Willow didn’t care about lines. “You mean you don’t already know? The Mayor hasn’t told you about his plans? There’s no way you don’t know unless you’re completely stupid or the Mayor’s just using you,” she snapped. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she pressed her lips together stubbornly.

Stupid? Willow thought she was stupid? Some of Faith’s good intentions slipped as anger flared. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Which is it?” Willow just _had_ to talk. She couldn’t stay silent, even with Faith’s knife to her throat. “Do you want me to be quiet? Or do you want answers? That’s your problem, Faith. You have no idea what you want, do you? Even when you were with the Council, you couldn’t make up your mind. ‘I love Slaying,’ you said. ‘I’m going to be better than B.’ But you wouldn’t put in the time. It was more important to sneak out and get drunk.”

Forgetting about the knife, Faith back-handed Willow with her free hand.

Blood poured from the resulting cut on Willow’s lip. The blow appeared to reinforce Willow’s determination – and her disgust at Faith’s behavior. “Goddess, I bet you laughed when the Council punished Giles for letting you do that!”

What? The knife wavered for an instant. What the Hell was Willow talking about?

Willow didn’t notice. She was too busy yelling at Faith. “You’re horrible! He almost lost his job when you killed Deputy Mayor Finch.”

“That was an accident,” Faith snapped. “I was protecting Buffy. Besides, Finch was dirty.”

“No, he wasn’t. He was there to give you and Buffy information about the Mayor!” Willow fired back. “Those emails were faked, Faith. Finch wasn’t working with the vampires. The Mayor wrote those emails after Finch was already dead, and I can prove it.”

That wasn’t true! Willow was lying. She had to be. _That’s_ why the Mayor had sent Faith to get Willow to stop hacking. Willow was telling people lies about the Mayor. “I don’t care,” she snarled. Anger rose until it choked her. “The Boss ain’t got no reason to lie about that.”

“Sure he does.” Willow’s voice reeked with satisfaction and superiority – until Faith shoved the knife tighter against her throat. The skin turned white, and a line appeared. A hair more pressure, and Willow would bleed.

“The Boss knows you’ve been fuckin’ with the computers. You know that? You ain’t as smart as you think. Wonder how much you’d like prison? Nobody there’s gonna care how smart you are,” Faith enjoyed the fear in Willow’s eyes. She deserved to be afraid. The Mayor was the only person to ever believe in Faith, and Willow wasn’t going to take that away from her.

There was no answer. Willow remained silent, eyes trained on Faith.

“Stay outta the computers,” Faith warned Willow. “If the Boss tells me to talk to you again, prison is gonna sound good.” She added a hint of force to the dagger, and a trickle of blood stained the blade.

Running footsteps echoed in the hall. Voices shouted.

Faith was out of time. She sheathed her knife. “Remember what I said.” Cutting through the gym, past the first few students heading to PE, Faith exited through the side doors.


	34. Chapter 34

“Then what _do_ you think, Mr. Giles?” Tara was frustrated. So frustrated she nearly snarled the question. “I know I’ve only been part of your inner circle for a little while, but I’ve never seen Faith do anything remotely rebellious. She was, at worst, a little moody.” Not to mention funny, smart, and beautiful. Tara kept that to herself, though. “Tell me why the Council hates her.”

Giles stiffened at her tone. It wasn’t fair to Dominate him. But Tara was past caring about “fair.” She needed answers. “The Council does not hate Faith.”

“Really?” Tara stood and leaned with her hands on the desk. “Did you see what Watcher Wes,” she was so wound up she didn’t realize she’d used Faith’s nickname for Wyndham-Pryce, “did to Faith? The tests he put her through? The way he treated her?” Tara fired off the questions, one right after the other. “Did you see how tired and defeated she looked?”

“I…I did not.” Appearing tired and more than a little defeated now as well, Giles bowed his head. “Once Wesley became Faith’s official Watcher, I was cut out of her training.”

“You weren’t cut out before, though.” Softening her approach, Tara went back to her chair. “Tell me about Faith, Mr. Giles. Where is she from? What is her family like? Why was she stationed here?” Tara lacked even the most basic information about Faith’s life. How was she supposed to take care of Faith if Giles wouldn’t help her?

“I was not previously cut out by the Council, that is true.” Giles raised his head and met her eyes. “However, Faith has been loathe to discuss her past with me. Or with anyone. I tried multiple times to convince her to see one of our psychologists…” He fell silent for a moment. “There were signs I recognized. Things I remember from my youth. I have not always lived within the ivory tower frequented by the Council.”

Signs. Tara had seen signs, too. Like the “no hitting” and “no tying down” limits. Tara wrapped her arms over her stomach and braced for Giles to continue.

“I often saw Faith flinch away when someone, anyone, really tried to touch her. The very few reports filed by her first Watcher and the Retrieval Team mention that Faith was ‘over sexualized’,” Giles said.

Tara wasn’t familiar with that phrase. “What does that mean?”

Hesitating, Giles rearranged the papers on his desk and the alignment of his desk calendar and pen cup.

This time, Tara waited him out. She stifled the need to scream at him and took a tight hold on her emotional control. Maybe this was one of those tests Althenea had mentioned. If she failed and tried to imitate Noreen’s last fireball disaster, Giles might pay the ultimate price.

He took too long, however, and Tara’s limited patience ran out. “Mr. Giles?” Faith’s Lady Tara made her first appearance. “What. Does. That. Mean.” Each word was carefully weighted with just a hint of command.

“Yes. Of course.” Giles rushed to fill the vacuum left behind when Tara stopped speaking. “I daresay the reports referenced Faith’s need to provoke those around her with sexually-laden remarks. When we first met,” his cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat, “she made it clear I might be an acceptable sexual partner.”

Tara was not amused. The thought of Faith with anyone else made Tara want to scratch Giles’ eyes out. But eclipsing jealousy was a rising nausea. “What…w-would…” She couldn’t even finish the question.

There was pity and understanding in Giles’ eyes. “Tara, although I have no proof, and Faith has never confided in me, I believe she may have been abused as a child.”

***

Faith slammed the door behind her. The noise sent two students, who’d been necking just outside, scrambling a safe distance apart. Faith shoved past them and took off. With Slayer speed fully engaged, outrunning Principal Snyder and the flabby school security guards was easy. Leaving Willow’s voice behind, though… That was something else.

What had Willow meant? _“The Mayor wrote those emails after Finch was dead.”_ Faith wrestled with the statement as she left the campus and slowed to a jog. If those emails were fakes and Finch hadn’t been working for Balthazar…

_Dodging the sword swinging at her head, Faith rushed in and staked the vampire with an arrow. The coast was clear. The only vampires left standing were about to be Buffy’s next victims. Faith could hear them fighting and grinned. No way were these losers going to beat Buffy._

_She turned. And that’s when she a new vampire lunge out of the shadows at Buffy’s back._

Willow was lying. She had to be. Finch had been in that alley to kill Buffy.

A little of the sick feeling swirling in Faith’s stomach settled. Willow had probably just been spouting off – like she had during that lunch with Tara.

Faith _knew_ Willow had been lying. No way would the Mayor do any of the stuff Willow had said. He wouldn’t lie about Deputy Mayor Finch working for the vampires. He wouldn’t have lied to Faith. No way. The Mayor wasn’t like that.

The Mayor wasn’t a bad guy.

Yet her mind refused to stop. It examined and re-examined every detail of her time with the Mayor, with Willow. Hell, her entire time in Sunnydale.

There were no answers, only more questions and a lot of confusion.

Faith finally stopped jogging - and stared in shock. The Slayer House sat dead ahead.

Why here? Out of all the places in Sunnydale, why had she ended up here? Faith hesitated across the street from the large house. It blended in with the rest of the neighborhood. Maybe the lawn was better maintained. Giles had some kind of fit if the landscaping guys weren’t there once a week to mow, trim, and weed.

Faith had always wanted a home just like this. The tiny, rundown apartment she’d shared with her mother and their customers had been nothing like the House.

_Body aching, Faith kept her eyes on the john as he rooted on the floor for his clothing._

_“Son of a bitch!” The pants he’d just picked up went back onto the floor, and the man stomped on them. “You should clean this place up, girlie. You aren’t good enough for me to overlook roaches for a repeat performance.”_

_Too bad, Faith wanted to yell. If she could find more roaches, she’d pour them all over the floor. Anything…anything was better than this. She remained chained to the sagging, single bed. Why did the men and women **ever** come here? The sheets reeked; they hadn’t been washed in weeks. The paint on the walls and ceilings was peeling, and Faith had seen cleaner public restrooms._

Shaking off the memory, Faith started to leave. She didn’t belong here. She never had. That had been clear her very first night in Sunnydale. Giles in his starched white shirt and vest. Buffy with her troupe of cheerleaders.

The pretty flowers and brightly-painted shutters across the street hid the truth. The Slayer House sucked. Faith never wanted to go inside that house of horrors again. And yet… It pulled at her.

Faith wandered closer. If she knocked, would Giles let her in? Would he back up what Willow had said at the school?

She slowly crossed the street. All of a sudden, her head buzzed, and the world went sideways until Faith had to grab the wooden arch marking the change from city sidewalk to the front walk of the House.

Shit! How could she have forgotten? Willow had sounded the alarm with Janna. If Janna had seen Faith outside the House, she might have reset those damned wards. Changed them so Faith would be trapped here. The wild tingles racing over every inch of her body indicated Faith had walked right into some big magic.

Faith turned and bolted. Nothing stopped her from leaving the House grounds. No one raced from the House after her. But those damned tingles followed Faith all the way down the street. She ran until she reached Weatherly Park before slowing. It was cooler in the shade provided by the towering trees.

As she walked along the concrete path, Faith realized she had burned her last bridge to the Slayer House when she’d held a knife to Willow’s throat. When she’d drawn Willow’s blood. Willow was one of the Scoobies. Buffy’s best friend. The head researcher.

And Faith had threatened her. She brushed her fingers over her dagger hilt before unsheathing it. She had to yank harder than normal. It didn’t slip easily from the sheath. Willow’s blood had dried on the blade, sticky and dark red.

There was absolutely no chance of going back now. She had no place to go except City Hall. That worked just fine for Faith. Shoving the dagger back into its sheath, Faith strode through the park, boot heels tapping a rapid rhythm on the pathway.

***

Tara leaned against the cool window glass and closed her eyes. The darkness didn’t help. Giles’ words followed her. Faith had probably been abused. Emotionally. Physically. Sexually.

_“Don’t let the bitch get away with that!” Tara’s father shoved Donny out of the way and personally backhanded the young girl who already cowered away from him. “You’re a Dom, boy. Act like one.”_

_It was all the encouragement Donny needed. He moved in on the terrified submissive. His first blow sent her crashing to the floor._

_Watching from the kitchen, Tara knew she couldn’t let Donny hurt the young girl again. She strode into the room with as much confidence as she could muster. “Stop!” For once, there was no stutter. And the word rang with authority._

_Tara’s father and Donny spun around in surprise._

_“Get out,” Tara told the girl. Her confidence soared when the submissive scrambled across the floor to safety. The front door opened and closed behind the girl, leaving Tara alone with her father and brother._

_Surprise didn’t hold them in place for long. “That sub cost a lot of money,” her father growled. Before Tara could run, he’d crossed the living room. One heavy hand caught Tara in the jaw._

_Reeling, she tripped over her own feet and landed on the arm of the couch. Pain flared in time with a dull, snapping sound._

Oh, Goddess. Not Faith, too. Tears blurred the sunny day outside as Tara imagined a tiny version of Faith, chin raised defiantly as she faced down whoever had hurt her.

“I’m so very sorry,” Giles said behind her. “Perhaps I am wrong. Faith has never admitted any such events in her past.”

Of course she hadn’t. Tara had never told anyone about her father and brother. The thought of admitting what had happened, how she’d never fought back... Tara shivered and wrapped her arms more tightly over her stomach. Giles wasn’t wrong. His assessment of Faith made sense, and it fit with what Tara had been reluctant to acknowledge, even to herself. She’d seen the signs: Faith’s discomfort with casual touches, her rapid mood swings. The way Faith had closed off after their scene.

If you didn’t let anyone close, they couldn’t hurt you. Tara had been a fair hand at living that motto before Maxie and Trish had refused to take no for an answer and had forced their way into her life. Now, even more than the day before, Tara wanted to wrap Faith in her arms and keep her protected.

Giles’ phone rang. Tara barely heard him pick up the handset.

If Faith was going to move beyond her past, she’d need help. Not just Tara; although Tara was more than ready to be there for Faith. She’d need professional help. Tara’s conscience twinged. _She’d_ never sought help in dealing with her past; how could she expect Faith to do so?

“What?” Giles’ raised voice broke into Tara’s concentration, and she spun around to see him hunched over his desk. “When did this happen? Did you contact the school?” He caught her watching him and waved urgently. “Janna, I know you’re upset. Yes…Yes, this is definitely more than a little mischief. If you’ll just calm down,” he pleaded.

Janna apparently did _not_ calm down. Giles flinched and pulled the handset away from his ear for a moment before doggedly returning to the conversation. “I am very sorry. I know that Willow is your submissive, but think, Janna.  I am certain Faith would never hurt her.”

Tara’s heart stopped. She rushed to the desk and strained to hear both sides of the conversation. It wasn’t as hard as she expected because Janna was yelling.

“You need to admit it, Giles. Faith is dangerous. Wes and the Council have been right all along.” Janna’s voice carried clearly, and Tara saw Giles instinctively begin to turn away in an effort to keep Tara from hearing.

It was far too late for that.

“I will not debate that point with you. Not in your present condition,” Giles answered. He reached out a hand, gently covering Tara’s where it rested in a tight fist on his desk. “Take care of Willow and then we can speak about Faith.”

There was an ominous silence. Janna’s next words were too soft for Tara to hear, but the _tone_ wasn’t. Janna was angry and out for blood. Faith’s blood.

“I understand. If you feel you must contact the authorities…” Giles slowly hung up the phone. He bowed his head and didn’t say anything.

That was fine with Tara. She wasn’t ready to hear all the details of his conversation with Janna. She knew the most important parts. Faith was in trouble, and this time, even her supporters at the House thought she’d crossed a line.

“You heard?” Giles finally asked.

“Enough, yes.” Tara moved away from the desk. She needed to think, to find Faith, to do something. Yet there was absolutely nothing she _could_ do.

Except, as she circled the room pretending to examine the hundreds of books on the shelves or the pictures of a smiling Giles and Lydia, a frisson of energy skated along her nerves. Pressure built just behind her eyes and in her chest.

Tara recognized the sensations. She’d felt them twice before when Faith was upset.

They were stronger this time. Way stronger.

_“Faith?”_ The link had widened. Tara trembled, needing to reach for Faith. She didn’t. Faith had to make the first move. Tara wouldn’t force the bond if Faith wasn’t ready.

Still, she couldn’t help peering hopefully through the conduit. That’s when it hit her. The reason the tingling was so strong. Faith was nearby. Hurrying to the window, Tara peered down at the street.

“Tara? What is it? What’s wrong?” Giles asked; Tara ignored him.

There was nothing outside. No Faith tossing pebbles at the glass with a dimpled grin. Giles’ office faced away from the street, over a formal English garden. Faith wasn’t standing among the manicured paths. Where was she then?  She had to be close by. The feeling was so strong.

So was the pressure. Tara’s head pounded. Squinting against the pain, she pushed at the link – and gained ground.

_“Faith? Sweetie, where are you?”_ Please, please be there, Tara added silently.

There was no answer. This was useless. Tara gave up on the link and ran for the door. Faith was outside. Tara knew it.

Only…the porch was empty. Tara hurried to the street and peered up and down the sidewalk. Her sense of Faith continued to dwindle. “No!” This couldn’t be happening. Faith had been here; she’d nearly completed the bond. “Where are you, Faith? And why won’t you let me in?” Giving the empty street one last, frustrated glare, Tara marched back into the House.

Giles met her in the foyer. “What happened? Why did you run out?”

“I have to go.” Tara sidestepped his questions. She wasn’t admitting that Faith had been outside. He’d probably call Janna or the police. “I…I forgot I have somewhere to be.” As she said it, Tara realized it was the truth. She did need to be somewhere. With Faith. Trish had been right when she’d reminded Tara that Faith hadn’t moved away.

If Tara wanted to see her, all she had to do was go to City Hall.


	35. Chapter 35

Faith nodded stiffly at Joan before entering the Mayor’s office. For once, there was no phone pressed to his ear. He sat at a large table shoved into the back corner of his office, books spread out all over the surface.

It looked like a research party.

Her footsteps faltered. Why did everything remind Faith of the Slayer House? It didn’t matter that the Mayor was reading some big-ass, dusty books. Peering closer, Faith saw they were the ones she’d gotten from Skyler. The Mayor wasn’t Giles (or, thankfully, Wes). She wasn’t going to get a lecture on the proper ways to use an index page or how to safely handle a crumbling roll of parchment. “Boss.”

The Mayor glanced up and waved her over. “Faith! I didn’t expect you back so soon. How was your visit with Ms. Rosenberg?”

Faith’s hand drifted to the hilt of her dagger. She’d been doing that a lot since leaving Weatherly Park. The knife was a physical reminder. Faith had crossed a line; there was no going back. “Did what you wanted,” Faith told him. Skirting his desk, she grabbed a chair from the table, spun it, and sat down with her arms dangling over the backrest.

“Did what?” His gaze was searching, and Faith’s hands gripped the chair back tightly as she fought the urge to look away.

“I told her to leave you the fuck alone.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Faith braced for his reaction.

It wasn’t long in coming. “Faith, I told you to watch your language” The Mayor shook a finger in her direction. “I know you’re better than that. If you want people to appreciate you like I do, you need to be more polite.”

Dropping her eyes to the table, Faith mumbled, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. I knew you’d understand, Faith. Now…” The Mayor’s tone lightened. “Tell me everything, every little detail about your visit.”

Faith raised her eyes a little. The Mayor nearly wiggled in his chair with excitement. A smile crept out at his antics. “Ya’ need to hit the head, Boss? ‘Cause I can wait.”

“Ah!” He held out his hands, as if strangling an invisible neck. Probably her neck. “Get on with it. Please! I can’t stand the suspense. Did she lie? I bet she did. And, knowing you, Faith, you didn’t believe a word of it. How did you do it? How did you get her to stop messing with my computers?”

The Mayor was right. Willow _had_ lied. “Looks like you know the story already.” Her hand gripped the hilt of the dagger. “’Cept the part where I told her to back off and leave ya’ alone.” The knife cleared the sheath, and Faith held it aloft. “I don’t think you got to worry about Willow no more.” The boastful words were out before Faith had time to filter them. She’d done what the Mayor had wanted. She’d gotten Willow to stop.

If there was a tiny part of Faith’s conscience that wasn’t happy about that… Well, it was easy to ignore.

The Mayor leaned forward, eyes intent. “Did you kill her, Faith?”

Faith’s thrill at a job well done disappeared beneath an icy chill. “No! I just nicked her a little. Made some threats. Scared her, you know?” Then a kernel of honesty forced her to admit, “Pretty sure she called her Domme. Snyder and his rent a cops chased me outta the school.”

Getting up, the Mayor crouched in front of Faith. He took the knife and placed it on the table before taking her hands in his. “Thank you.” His grip tightened until Faith met his gaze. “I know that wasn’t easy for you. Willow was a friend. But you’ve taken a big step, Faith. You’ve shown me that your loyalty is _here_ , with me, and not with that horrible Slayer House. I’m proud of you.”

The tiny flare of Faith’s conscience shrunk under his warm regard. “Told you I’d do anything you need, Sir.” But she couldn’t resist squeezing his hands in return.

“That’s just what I wanted to hear. This is a very critical time for me, Faith. I’ve told you that before. You’ve got an important part to play in everything coming up.” With a playful groan, the Mayor stood and released her hands. “I’m so glad you’re part of my team. I couldn’t _begin_ to plan for the next hundred days without you.”

***

A little of Tara’s determination faltered as she entered the lobby at City Hall. Groups of kids with harried-looking teachers filled the space, and a bored security guard lounged behind an information desk.

She couldn’t imagine Faith working here.

Forcing herself forward, Tara stopped in front of the desk. “Excuse me,” she politely announced. “I’m here to see Faith.” Embarrassment burned her cheeks; Tara didn’t even know Faith’s last name.

It was enough for the guard, however. “Let me call Joan. I don’t know if Faith’s here right now.” He lifted a phone from its cradle and punched in a few numbers on the console. “It’s Tim, at the front desk. Got someone here looking for Faith.” Tilting his head, he listened intently. “OK. Yeah. I’ll tell her.” Tim hung up. “If you’ll just wait over there,” he motioned to a sitting area to one side, “someone’s coming out to talk to you.”

Someone. Not Faith.

The gray-upholstered couch was nice, but Tara couldn’t get comfortable. She shifted over and over. Was Faith here? The link was still open. Or, more open than it had been the day before. Tara caught more emotions now.

Faith was…happy. Pleased. Maybe a little embarrassed. Tara’s lips curled. She’d like to see that. Did Faith blush? Maybe get shy?

Goddess, where was this _someone_ who was supposed to come take her to Faith? Her fingers drummed on the cushion. This was crazy. City Hall wasn’t that big. She could have found Faith’s office by herself by now.

“Hello? Are you here to see Faith?” The woman was older and dressed in a conservative gray skirt and white blouse.

“Yes.” Tara shot off the couch so fast the woman backed up in surprise. “Is she here?”

Hand pressed over her heart, the woman eyed Tara warily. “My name is Joan. I’m Mayor Wilkins’ secretary. Faith’s in his office right now and I don’t want to disturb them. Would you like to leave a message? I’m sure she’ll be free in a while.”

Tara hadn’t come all the way down here to leave a message. “Is there someplace I could wait?”

Joan hesitated. She hadn’t expected that response. “I guess…”

“Maybe in your office?” Tara interrupted. “That way, Faith won’t have to come all the way out here to talk to me. It’s really very important I speak to her.” Tara gave Joan a beseeching look.

The older woman folded. “I suppose that will be alright. It’s this way.” She turned and led the way to a hallway on the other side of the lobby. With each step, the buzz under Tara’s skin grew. “The Mayor doesn’t really encourage walk-in appointments. Are you sure you can’t set up a time to meet with Faith?”

“I’m positive,” Tara said firmly. She moved closer to Joan to prove she’d follow her anywhere – as long as she got to see Faith.

Joan gave in. She led Tara to the back of the building. Her desk sat just inside a glass-fronted waiting area. Another door that Tara assumed led to the Mayor’s office was safely behind Joan’s desk. “Please have a seat…” she hesitated.

“Tara.” Sitting down, Tara picked up an old magazine from the coffee table in the waiting area. She didn’t see a single one of the glossy ads or articles. Her eyes watched the door to the Mayor’s office. Faith was in there. Tara could feel her.

Unfortunately, Faith was in the Mayor’s office – and she stayed there. Tara pretended to read every page of every magazine four times. Joan glanced up each time she turned a page.

“Are you sure…” Joan began.

“Yes. I’ll wait.” Baring her teeth in a smile, Tara picked up the first magazine in her rotation. It was just as uninteresting the fifth time around. Luckily, the Mayor’s door sprang open before she ripped the pages out in frustration. Hopping up, she watched Faith come out, followed by the Mayor.

“…two or three, Faith. And I’ll want to approve them first, of course,” the Mayor was saying.

Faith nodded. “Sure, Boss.” She was cute when she concentrated. Tara smiled, her mood already lightening. “You want me to let ya’ know who I’m lookin’ at?” She finally noticed Tara standing in the office.

For one wild moment, Tara thought this was it. The hairs on her arm sprang to attention and the bond came alive. Faith even smiled – and Tara grinned back.

Then the smile faded and Faith’s expression grew guarded.  “What are you doin’ here?” she demanded.

Tara had envisioned this meeting far differently. They were supposed to be alone. Faith was supposed to be happy to see her. Reality was such a letdown. “I thought maybe we could go to lunch?” Tara tried for innocent and light-hearted. “Someone told me Slayers are always hungry.”

A little of Faith’s smile returned. “And I ain’t had breakfast.”

“You’re a friend of Faith’s?” The Mayor stepped in front of Tara and held out his hand. “Fabulous. She’s a big part of what we do here,” he said enthusiastically.

Shaking hands with the Mayor was the last thing Tara wanted. However, her mother had raised her right. She clasped his hand briefly. “It’s nice to meet you,” she lied. Then she tried to steer the conversation back on the right path. “Sweetie, do you have time for lunch? If you can’t go out, I can bring something back here.”

Faith’s eyes darted between Tara and the Mayor. “Uh…”

“Come on,” Tara urged. “I owe you. Remember my first lunch at the House when I tried to starve you with half a sandwich? I’ll do better this time. I promise.” She held out her hand, their usual signal that Faith was on board. Faith made no move to take it, though, and after a very long moment, Tara numbly dropped her hand to her side.

“You’re with the Council?” The Mayor asked. He shared a long glance with Faith. “I thought you said you were a friend of Faith’s?”

His implication was clear – and Tara resented it. “I _am_ Faith’s friend.” She barely managed to keep her voice level and polite. “We miss her at the House. She was a big part of the team there, too.”

The comment was a mistake. “The fuck I was!” Faith’s posture altered. From uncertain to angry in the blink of an eye. “The Council wanted to turn me off.”

Conscious of the Mayor avidly watching their exchange, Tara backed off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know you weren’t happy at the House. I just remember how much I enjoyed our lunch and the tour you gave me.” Afraid to look away, to lose her tenuous connection with Faith, Tara added. “And the lesson you taught me on Slayer History.”

The gentle approach worked. Some of Faith’s aggression disappeared; her shoulders dropped, and her hands came out of her pockets. “Yeah, the lesson I taught. Ain’t nobody as good as me at teachin’.”

“Another hidden talent, Faith?” The Mayor landed a hand on her shoulder, interrupting Tara and Faith’s not-so-private conversation again. His voice was jovial. A father figure congratulating his favorite child.

And Faith lit up. Tara had never seen her so open, so happy. A twinge started in her chest. A tiny twinge that grew to a breath-stealing ache. Faith should look like that with _Tara,_ not the Mayor. Not a man who wanted to be a demon. Transfixed with jealousy, she watched Faith grin at the Mayor. “I got mad skills, Boss.”

So did the Mayor, Tara thought. He was an experienced Dominant. A man who knew just what to say and do to flatter someone like Faith. Tara’s anger drowned under a wave sadness. Whatever else the Mayor was or did, Faith had never looked younger or happier. The stupid Council had done nothing but tell her how horrible she was.

“Why don’t you go to lunch, Faith? I’m sure those applications will still be on Joan’s desk when you get back,” the Mayor encouraged. “It’s a nice day out. Enjoy it. There will be plenty of time for you to be stuck behind a desk on a million boring phones calls like me. Besides, those new guards have waited this long. They can wait another day. It’s not like there are vampires coming in and out of City Hall at all hours.”

Something changed as soon as the Mayor made that final comment. Every bit of life drained out of Faith. “Sorry, T.”

“T,” not “Tara.” Paired with the new, grim cast to Faith’s expression, Tara braced for the worst.

Her worst wasn’t bad enough.

“I can’t do lunch,” Faith said.

The Mayor shook his head. “Faith, your friend came all the way down here…”

At first, Tara was confused. Why would the Mayor encourage Faith to go to lunch? Then she actually _looked_ at him rather than focus on Faith. He was watching her, too. Watching with such an air of anticipation that her skin chilled.

“Nah, Boss. I got work to do.” Taking a step away from Tara, a step closer to the Mayor, Faith added, “Besides, I ain’t part of the House anymore. It’s time to move on.”


	36. Chapter 36

Faith wanted to move on. Move on…without Tara? “F-Faith?” A hole opened beneath Tara’s feet, darkness beckoning at the bottom.

Some emotion Tara couldn’t name passed over Faith’s face so quickly Tara couldn’t identify it. She glanced back at the Mayor, almost as if looking for reassurance. Of course, he gave it. One hand dropped to rest on Faith’s shoulder, long fingers squeezing in a show of support.

Tara teetered on the edge that pit. It tried to suck her over the edge. “Maybe another day.”

“Not gonna make a difference, Tara.” Faith shrugged. “Today, tomorrow. Next week. I’m busy. The Boss’s got things for me to do.”

“Tara.” Not “T.” Faith probably hadn’t intended her comment to be more than a simple refusal of a lunch date. To Tara, though, it was so much more. Faith hadn’t refused her friend. She’d refused Tara. Tara, Faith’s Dominant from the previous day. Faith’s Dominant forever, according to the bond.

Only a last remaining shred of pride kept Tara from collapsing to her knees and begging Faith for another chance. Spine stiff through will alone, Tara managed a soft, “If that’s what you want, sweetie.” It wasn’t what Tara wanted. Far from it. Praying her smile didn’t waver, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Faith’s cheek. “If you ever need anything, please call. I promise I’ll be there for you.” Her lips tingled as she pulled away.

“I’m really sorry about this, Tara.” The Mayor oozed satisfaction. He’d won this round, and he let her know it. “Call ahead next time, and maybe my Faith can squeeze you in.”

My Faith. _My_ Faith. Tara forgot all about Faith’s dismissal. Faith was _hers_. “Oh, I’ll be back,” she said clearly. Meeting his eyes, she fluoresced her personal shields until she glowed faintly. “You can bet on it.”

Although he didn’t visibly react, the Mayor’s eyes went cold and flat. “Excellent. It’s such a pleasure to maintain a friendly relationship with the Slayer House.”

Giving him a tight smile, Tara spun on her heel and stalked away. They needed to find a way to get rid of the Mayor soon. If she had to do all the research herself, they were going to find a way to beat him.

Most of Tara’s certainty had faded by the time she re-entered the House. The walk had been long enough for her to remember they hadn’t managed to discover much about the Mayor _or_ the Ascension since Willow’s Internet find yesterday. Following the sound of voices to the third floor, Tara entered the Library to an argument.

A very loud argument.

“I’m not going to let this go, Rupert!” Janna snapped. She waved at Willow, who huddled miserably on the couch. “Faith did more than threaten her. She _cut Willow with a knife!_ We have to call the police. I’ve already talked to Principal Snyder. Faith isn’t a student any longer; there isn’t anything he can do.”

Tara’s roller coaster emotions hit the bottom of the hill and rocketed back up. “You can’t call the police.”

Giles and Janna jumped in surprise at her interruption. “My dear, I know you are…concerned about Faith,” Giles started. His hands extended in mute appeal. “I am as well. Janna and I were discussing our options.”

Options? What a joke. Janna had already made up her mind. Tara had no doubt of that. And any doubts she _may_ have had were eliminated when Janna said, “We weren’t discussing anything. You were making excuses. There are no excuses for this!”

“I agree, Ms. Kalderash. And so does the Council.” Tara hadn’t noticed Wes or the unknown young woman with him. She’d been too focused on Giles and Janna. “Quentin has approved the use of a Retrieval Team to apprehend Faith. We cannot wait any longer. Her actions today…”

What was _wrong_ with these people? They’d _apprehend_ Faith over Tara’s dead body. “Willow, why did Faith threaten you? Tell me what happened.”

“We’ve already heard…” Wes was on Tara’s last nerve.

“I missed that part of the conversation,” she said with deadly calm. “Since I just came from downtown, and there are no bodies littering the sidewalk, I think we’re safe from Faith for a few more minutes.”

Giles glanced away from Janna toward Tara. His eyes, behind the lenses of his glasses, appeared worried. “Yes, I agree. Let’s all sit down and discuss this further. Willow, please. Would you repeat what happened at the school?”

Willow glanced at Janna for permission first. “She wanted to talk about the Mayor. I thought she’d found out he was a bad guy. I mean, she asked me about hacking into the City Hall mainframe. She must have talked to someone. Giles or…or Buffy. Even Xander.” The rush of words petered out.

“What happened next?” Tara prodded. At this point, it was an innocent conversation. Faith hadn’t done anything. “Why did Faith threaten you?” She saw Janna cross her arms and glare in her direction and didn’t care. Tara knew Faith wouldn’t have hurt Willow without a reason.

A memory of Faith looking up at the Mayor for approval flashed through her mind.

Tara stumbled to the couch and sat at the opposite end from Willow. Her skin felt hot and cold at the same time. _Please_ , she begged the Goddess. _Please, no._ If the Mayor had asked Faith to hurt Willow, she might have done it to please him.

“She asked me what I’d found.” Willow chewed her lip. “Up till then, I thought she knew, remember? So when she asked me, I figured out she didn’t. And I told I wouldn’t tell her anything.”

A knot formed in Tara’s stomach, and dozens of its friends made their way to her throat. She fought to breathe.

“That’s when she pulled her knife.” Willow would have continued, but Janna interrupted.

“See? Faith pulled her knife.” She reached for the phone. “I’m calling the police. I know Wes has a Retrieval Team on standby, but I want the police to have a complaint on file. We have to do this the right way.”

If Tara hadn’t been watching Willow so closely, she might have missed the way she flinched at the announcement. Did Willow disagree with Janna’s decision? “Sweetie, what else happened? Why did F-Faith c-cut you?”

“That was my fault,” Willow said, and her announcement froze Janna mid-dial. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell you, _Doamn_ _ᾰ._ But you…you wouldn’t listen.”

“She cut you.” Janna’s vengeful posture softened slightly. “She can’t get away with that, _drag_ _ᾰ._ No matter the reason.”

Willow got up and walked to Janna. Peering imploringly at her bondmate, she waited until Janna put the phone back on the receiver before snuggling into Janna’s embrace. “Faith was scary there at the end. But I made her that way. It was weird. She didn’t really say anything at first. I did all the talking.” Her smile was bright and somehow wry at the same time. “Like always. Faith just stood there. She even looked happy when I told her about the doughnut mix up this morning.”

Tara latched onto that completely irrelevant fact. Faith had been happy thinking about doughnuts. Had she…had she been happy because she remembered meeting Tara at the doughnut shop yesterday? Her own lips curled at the memory. She’d never be able to eat a jelly doughnut without thinking of Faith ever again.

_“Whatever, Lady Tara. You ain’t shy. The way you been actin’ lately, I’m thinkin’ you might take B as Sunnydale’s Head Bitch.”_ Tara loved the way Faith’s dimples had peeked out. The way her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Faith and I shouldn’t ever talk to each other, though,” Willow continued, breaking into Tara’s pleasant memory. “It’s like we can’t help ourselves. She’s so touchy and all the frowns and grumpiness make me want to smack her. And that’s when I say things I know will make her mad. Like today. I’m babbling about not having breakfast ‘cause you forgot to get a cinnamon powdered-sugar one, and Faith’s smiling. Then boom! Faith’s all ‘grrr’. She asks me why I was spying on the Mayor and what I found. That’s when I realized she didn’t know what we’d been up to, and I, well, I sort of told her she was stupid for not knowing the Mayor was a bad guy or that he was using her.”

Perfect. Tara wanted to close her eyes and bang her head on the back of the couch. Calling Faith stupid was tailor made to cause problems. Hearing it from Willow, after months of hearing it from the Council…

Wiggling a little in Janna’s arms, Willow mumbled, “And, um, I guess after that I might have gone overboard by maybe saying she would have been a better Slayer if she’d actually done anything to improve.”

For someone supposedly so smart, _Willow_ sounded as stupid as she’d accused Faith of being. There was more to the story, too. Tara knew it. Willow had buried her face in Janna’s shirt as if she wanted to hide from the truth. “What else?” Tara demanded. She pressed deeper into the couch to keep from storming over to Willow and shaking the rest of the information out of her.

“I told her I could prove the Mayor wrote the emails from Finch,” Willow admitted.

There was a minor furor over that. Tara tuned it out. No wonder Faith been glued to the Mayor’s hip today. He was the only person giving her any encouragement. His every action, every comment had been geared to tie her more tightly to him. And Faith had to have known she’d crossed a big line with Willow today.

Tara was ashamed to realize the Mayor gave Faith more support than anyone in this room and that now he was all she had left. Even if Tara managed to get Faith alone, she’d never convince her that the Mayor was playing for the other team.

“Janna, Faith’s actions are reprehensible,” Giles stated. Before Tara could become too angry at him for defecting, he got back in her good graces. “You cannot call the police, however. Willow’s retelling indicates that the Mayor is aware Willow has broken into the City Hall computers. If you call the police, he may very well choose to file his own statement and make a complaint against Willow.”

Everyone paused to consider that. Wes, of course, took it as an opportunity to butt in. “I will contact the Retrieval Team. They have nothing to do with…”

Buffy strode in, derailing his tired rant. “Hey, Wes. Welcome back. And…Kendra, right? Sorry you got dragged into this fight. The Retrieval Team has to wait. Faith is the least of our concerns. I tried to track down Skyler and those Books; only I couldn’t find him this morning.” Tossing her jacket onto the bench by the door, Buffy took a seat in one of the chairs, almost as if she was holding court. She certainly had everyone’s attention. “So I did a little research and had a chat with Willy.” Tara didn’t bother to ask who he was and why Buffy had spoken with him. “According to Willy, Faith was hunting for Skyler Monday night. He steered me to a really ugly house across the tracks. Guess what?”

She scanned the room, waiting for a participant in her personal game show. “No? Fine. Ruin my only fun for the day. Skyler’s dead. Giles, I know my math isn’t the best. If I add Faith to the Books and a dead demon, I get ‘we’re screwed.’ I bet the Mayor has the Books.”

***

“How did those interviews go?” The Mayor appeared at Faith’s office door. “You were gone for hours. I was getting worried.” His voice lowered and he glanced comically around. “I know Joan thinks they’re all axe murderers – or worse. Did you have to fight them off?”

Faith shook her head and then wished she hadn’t. Someone, probably Willow or Janna, must have a Faith-shaped voodoo doll with dozens of pins sticking out of its little head. “Nah. Only had one really scary guy.” He’d sported gold teeth and dozens of tattoos that Faith suspected were gang affiliations. Her hand had been on her dagger the entire time they’d talked.

“Oh.” As if sensing she wasn’t up to playing, the Mayor sobered. “Do you have any qualified candidates?”

Not one. Faith stared at the pile of file folders and notes she’d scribbled during her many conversations. She needed to send Giles a heartfelt “thank you.” In the middle of the first interview, completely unnerved by the applicant’s Dominant leer, Faith had channeled her former Watcher.

_“Mr. Zajicek, I have several scenarios for you.” Scrambling to remember the training scenarios (that she hadn’t paid attention to the first time around), Faith stood up and moved around behind the hulking man. She released a sigh of relief at finally being out of his line of sight. “Let’s say ya’ come to work and there’s a door open.” OK, it hadn’t been one of Giles’ situations, but it would have to do. Faith was too rattled to remember more._

“’Fraid not, Boss. I think if we hired a couple of ‘em, you’d be buying new computers and staplers in the morning.” Faith rubbed her eyes and sat up straight in her chair. She felt a hundred years old from spending the entire day in this one freaking spot. A glance out her favorite window showed the sun had already dropped, and shadows blanketed the garden below.

To make matters worse, her stomach growled because she’d skipped lunch. Too bad the Mayor was so anti-House. The interviews had been a complete waste of time, and Tara had been buying. She’d also looked like Faith had punched her when Faith had turned down the invitation.

Hell, Tara had looked a lot like she had when Faith had kicked her out of the apartment.

The headache pounded with more vigor. Willow had obviously jabbed a few more pins in her Faith doll, and Faith was glad she was glued to her chair. If she’d been standing, she might have ended up on the floor. Black dots danced in front of her eyes for a minute.

“Faith?” The Mayor’s voice sounded like he was using a tin-can phone from very far away even though he stood a few feet away.

“I’ll keep lookin’,” Faith answered. Pressing her hands against the desk, she carefully stood up. The room swayed but finally stabilized. Fucking awesome. All she wanted to do was crawl home and pass out. Maybe take an entire bottle of painkiller on the way. Unfortunately, the Mayor had his ritual thing tonight. “What time’s your party?” Maybe she could nap in here for a while until it started.

Unfortunately, Willow must have put a curse on her when she’d started poking the voodoo doll. With an excited hand clap, the Mayor answered, “That’s why I’m here. Everything’s set up. Are you ready?”

“Let’s motor, Boss, before you explode or somethin’.” Gritting her teeth, Faith followed the Mayor through City Hall. “Where are we headed?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? We don’t really have to go anywhere.” They’d reached the back of the building near the storeroom where Faith had discovered the tunnel. “I’ve asked a few friends to meet us here.”

Faith’s headache was suddenly eclipsed by a familiar cramping in her Slayer senses. “Boss…” Her dagger cleared its sheath. How had the vampires gotten through her new lock or the crates she’d piled over the tunnel?

“Oh, put that away,” he said fondly, opening the storage room door. “You could poke someone’s eye out. I promise I’m in no danger. You’re here, and I’ve invited one of my closest business associates for the ritual.”

He and his friend were going to end up dead. Shoving past him, Faith vowed to keep the Mayor in one piece.

“My goodness. I thought you said you had your pet Slayer under control.” A thin, well-dressed black vampire stood in the center of the large room. He stared at Faith disdainfully. “If I hadn’t been paying attention, Richard, she might have actually staked me.”

Might have staked him? Faith was _going_ to stake him. She took a step forward, shifting the knife so that the blade sat parallel to her forearm. It gave her just the right angle to take the vamp’s head off.

And it would have worked if the Mayor hadn’t grabbed the back of her shirt.

“Faith, meet Mr. Trick, my business associate.” Shaking her like a dog held by the scruff of its neck, the Mayor said in a steely voice, “Do _not_ kill him. He’s very good at making things happen.”

Nothing made sense. Faith’s mind was locked in place the way her body was held stationary by the Mayor’s grip. Trick was a vampire. She could _feel_ him. But the Mayor didn’t want her to stake him? He’d called Trick his business partner. The Mayor _knew_ Trick!

He knew Trick was a vampire and he didn’t care.

“Faith?” The Mayor peered at her, an eyebrow cocked. “Am I going to have to send you home early? I can’t have you killing anymore of my associates. It was murder explaining the ones you slayed last night.”

“I’m good,” Faith mumbled. Her lips felt funny. Stiff and dry. Like she’d run the obstacle course a dozen times in the middle of the day without taking a drink. “Trick’s safe.”

With a final, piercing stare, the Mayor released her and straightened his suit jacket. “Excellent. Let’s get started.” He skipped across the room with a wide smile that tore at Faith’s leaden heart. That was _her_ smile. The one he flashed when he talked to her about working for him or when she’d done something to please him.

He wasn’t smiling at her this time, though. He was smiling at Trick.

Faith hovered near the door, mind and Slayer senses grappling with the situation.

“Let’s get started. Faith, shift those crates back against the wall. I’ll need some room to move.” Shedding his jacket, the Mayor went to one of the shelves and picked up a piece of chalk. “Faith!” he snapped when she simply stood at stared at him. “I’m waiting, and I really don’t have time to hold your hand. If you can’t deal with this, you’re of no use to me.”

_“This is appalling.” Diana sniffed in disapproval and gestured at the arrows sticking from the target. “In the last week, you have not improved at all. What use will you be in the field with such poor accuracy?”_

With disjointed strides, Faith crossed the storage room and quickly shoved the piles of crates from the center of the room. They made asymmetrical patterns against the wall. She ignored the pain from splinters transferred from the rough wooden crates.

The Mayor was working with Trick. It all made sense now: the lack of guards, the crappy lock on the storage room door. The emails the Mayor had faked.

Willow hadn’t been lying. The Mayor had made it look like Finch was working with the Mayor. For an instant, Faith thought she might pass out. Her skin grew hot and tight and her head felt funny. But passing out wasn’t in the cards. It was too easy. She had to be awake and aware as the Mayor traced a pentagram on the floor.

“You’ll have to stay back.” She wasn’t sure whether the Mayor was warning her or Trick. Replacing the chalk on the shelf, he opened another box and removed a bunch of candles. He set the candles at the points of the pentagram, lighting each one with a lighter he took from his pocket. “Is everything set for after?”

Trick nodded, expression bored. “Yes. I don’t know why you’re going to all this trouble.”

“Because I need to know!” The Mayor spun so quickly that Trick fell back a step. “I can’t complete my Ascension by skipping steps. I’m running out of time. The courier arrives with the Box of Gavrok tomorrow. I have to complete this ritual before I can ingest the contents.”

With a sigh, Trick held up a hand in surrender. “It’s your funeral if this doesn’t work, Richard.”

“Ah! But if I do this right, I won’t _ever_ have a funeral.” The Mayor was all smiles again.

Leaning weakly against the wall, Faith watched the Mayor step into the middle of the pentagram and sit down cross legged. It was a familiar pose. She’d seen Willow do it several times. Of course, Willow hadn’t _known_ she’d been there to see anything. Faith had been peering through the Work Room window as Willow and Janna practiced spells.

_“But, Janna, I don’t need to put up a ward. That takes too long,” Willow complained. “I figured it all out. A ward is just a big wall to keep the evil out, right?” She didn’t wait for Janna to respond. “All the salt or chalk lines and the chanting.” Sinking to cross-legged to the floor, she threw out her hands._

_Faith jumped back with a gasp as blue fire leapt from Willow’s palms and exploded in a very visible and shimmering wall around Willow._

There was no fire in the storage room. The Mayor lacked Willow’s flair, and he hadn’t found a way around the chanting. His voice filled the room, the words making absolutely no sense to Faith.

“ _Potestatem matris nostrae in tenebris invoco…maledictum filium tuum ab omni periculo custodias nunc et in saecula_!” Faith didn’t understand what he chanted. But somehow she _felt_ it. Her skin prickled and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

Shivering, Faith hunched her shoulders and peered at the Mayor. He glowed. A sullen red light highlighted his head and hands. She’d left the Council for this? Was a portal to Hell about to open up in City Hall?  

Faith wanted to laugh, but felt tears burn her eyes instead. The Council had been right. So fucking right. She wasn’t good enough to be a Slayer. She’d screwed up everything. Involuntarily, her hand touched the hilt of her dagger. Maybe Faith could make it right. The Mayor was still sitting in his chalk star. Trick didn’t look like he’d do anything that wrinkled his clothes.

Very slowly, Faith drew the dagger and inched forward. She was at the very edge of the chalk pentagram when the floor began to shake. The shelves rattled against the walls, and items crashed to the floor. Faith staggered and saw Trick gripping the edge of a crate to stay upright.

Long minutes passed. Finally, the floor quit rolling and the train-like roar quieted. The Mayor hopped up and rubbed a section of the chalk pentagram away with his foot. “What a rush. Trick, let’s see if it worked,” he said, striding toward Trick.

Faith froze, praying the Mayor didn’t see her hovering nearby with her knife in her hands.

She needn’t have worried. He didn’t spare her a glance. All his attention was on the trap door leading to the tunnel Faith had discovered. Trick bent down and yanked it open. “You can bring him up now,” he called into the tunnel.

Footsteps sounded from below. Seconds later, a vampire climbed out. Another vampire followed – handcuffed and chained.

“Unlock those.” The Mayor sounded impatient. “And give him his sword.”

The lead vampire hurried to unlock the restraints while a third vampire climbed from the tunnel. He carried a sword.

“You sure about this?” Trick eyed the captive vampire uneasily.

“Absolutely.” The Mayor moved closer. He was an easy target, hands hanging loosely at his sides.

Trick nodded, and the vampire with the sword thrust the weapon into the hands of the now-free prisoner. With a roar, the vampire sprang forward. The sword hummed through the air.

Faith relaxed a little. She wouldn’t have to take the Mayor out. This vamp would do it for her. The powerful overhead blow sent the blade into the top of the Mayor’s head. It wasn’t a kill shot Faith would have chosen, but it was dramatic as the sword sliced downward.

The Mayor split in half. Faith’s stomach threatened to revolt. Bile burned her throat and she started to gag.

Then the Mayor…reformed. The two halves of his body fused together like a coat closing as the wearer pulled the zipper. In a heartbeat, he was completely whole without even a scratch. “Well, I’d say that was a success.”

Trick moved behind the dumfounded vampire and staked him. “It seems so. What’s next?”

The Mayor searched in his jacket pockets while Faith stared. What the Hell _was_ he? Not human. No one survived that. No one just glued themselves back together. He didn’t ping her Slayer senses at all.

“Ah, here it is, the list of things I have to do in the next one hundred days.” Brandishing a piece of paper, the Mayor announced, “I’ve officially completed this step, Trick. Nothing can hurt me until my Ascension. Just a few more hoops to jump through.” He laughed. “Gosh, I feel good. Faith, Trick, how about a trip to the ice cream parlor to celebrate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I've fought and argued, Real Life is winning the fight. I'll be taking the next couple of weeks off from writing and posting. The Muse and I will be back, though, the first weekend in November with another chapter for you. 
> 
> ~rebelrsr


	37. Chapter 37

There was no ice cream. Instead, Faith stumbled after the Mayor as he returned to his office. Cold, clammy sweat soaked her clothes, and her earlier headache had returned with a vengeance. At least the pain made it difficult to think too hard about the ritual she’d witnessed. Or the fact the Mayor had somehow survived being chopped in half.

Faith would never forget that. Or the smile he’d worn as his body knitted itself back together.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Faith gripped the back of a chair and swallowed the contents of her stomach a second time. She couldn’t throw up. Not here. Not now. She could feel the Mayor watching her. Taking shallow breaths – and keeping one hand on the chair just in case – Faith moved around and sat down. “What’s next, Boss?” Strain was clear in the high, tight sound of her voice.

Ensconced behind his desk, the Mayor steepled his fingers over his chest and regarded Faith intently. “There’s a very important shipment arriving tomorrow night by courier. I mentioned it before,” the Mayor said.

He had. “I remember.” The Mayor had told Trick about it, too. “Some box, right?” Something he needed now that he’d done his ritual.

“The Box of Gavrok,” he answered. “I need you to meet the courier at Hanger Three at the airport tomorrow night at seven.” He hadn’t stopped watching her, and Faith’s skin prickled with dread. “This is more than just a job for you, Faith.”

The dread coalesced into a flaming ball of misery in Faith’s chest. The Mayor was up to something. She sat very still in her chair and tried to keep her expression blank.

“You haven’t been what I expected,” he told her. “All the reports I got said you were troubled. A kid with no real talent except with a stake.” The Mayor continued to talk, but Faith didn’t hear him.

He’d known about her. He’d read reports. Council reports? Had _everything_ the Mayor said to her been a lie? The pain in Faith’s head ballooned and then disappeared. She felt nothing. It was as if he’d carved her heart out, leaving only a gaping hole behind.

That’s why she didn’t react when the Mayor said, “I never expected you to actually _do_ anything for me. But you’ve surprised me. You’ve done more to help with the Ascension than all of Trick’s vampires combined.”

There was no rush of pleasure and pride at his praise. Faith wondered at that for a brief second before immersing herself in the cold rush of nothingness in her veins again.

“But I have to be sure. This is too important to risk on you rediscovering your morality.” Faith’s silence must have finally caught his attention. He sat forward in his chair. “I have something special in mind for this pick up, Faith.”

It was easy now for Faith to meet his eyes. There was nothing there for him to see. “Yeah?”

The Mayor’s eyes narrowed at her tone. “Yes.”

“Tell me what ya’ need, Boss.” Faith knew he called all the shots. She sure as Hell couldn’t go back to the Council now. And leaving Sunnydale was out of the question. She knew his secret. Faith would have two sets of hunters on her heels if she left: Buffy and Trick’s friends.

There was a glacial silence, probably meant to cow Faith into submission. Yesterday, she would have dropped her head and apologized. This time she simply sat and met his stare. What did she have to lose by courting the Mayor’s disapproval? “Very well.” He was seriously pissed off at her attitude, voice and posture stiff. He stood and walked to the small mini-bar area at the back of his office.

Faith made sure to turn and watch his progress. She would never turn her back on the Mayor again.

“I’m sure you understand the need for secrecy,” the Mayor said as he moved a few bottles of liquor. Pressing on the back of the shelving unit, he appeared to search for something. A second later, Faith heard a click and the entire wall unit slid to one side.

“What the fuck?” Faith couldn’t hold back her response. There was a small vault behind the bar. Weapons hung from the revealed wall space and she saw the books she’d stolen from Skyler lined up on one of the shelves.

Her word choice earned a piercing glare and a frown. Apparently, the Mayor’s dislike of foul language hadn’t been an act.

Too bad. Faith no longer cared. “And here I thought you just liked to booze it up, Boss. Didn’t know you had a stash in the wall.”

Gesturing her over, the Mayor peered at the weapons. “Just a few of my favorite weapons. You can’t ever be too careful you know. What if a horde of Slayers stormed City Hall?” There was humor in his voice.

Faith recognized it. Recognized it and almost responded. Her lips _did_ twitch for an instant before the crushing cloud of nothingness settled around her again.

“I want you to pick something, Faith, to take to the pickup tomorrow evening.” The Mayor pulled a short sword from its spot on the wall. The blade appeared watered, wavy markings rippling along the blade. “What about this? The finest Damascus steel…”

She took the sword from him. He had good taste. The sword was light and well-balanced. Razor-sharp, too. Faith sucked at the blood welling from the small cut on her thumb when she tested the blade.

“This courier. The one with my Box.” Faith picked up on the possessive. She should have noticed it before, with the books, too. “I can’t risk him boasting to his friends about what he delivered to the Mayor of Sunnydale.”

That would definitely put a crimp in the Mayor’s Ascension. “You got a plan?” Faith didn’t really need to ask. A need for secrecy plus weapons could mean only one thing. The demon bringing the box wasn’t making his return flight.

Math had always been Faith’s best subject. “Kill the courier,” the Mayor stated.

“Won’t be a problem.” Killing a demon would never be an issue. A little of Faith’s numbness wore off. Maybe she’d gotten it wrong. Maybe the Mayor wasn’t a really bad guy after all. Faith moved closer to the hidden vault and put the sword back.

“Really?” The Mayor chuckled. “I don’t think you understand the assignment.”

Faith didn’t pay much attention to him. She perused the weapons instead. The Mayor had a thing for knives. There had to be a dozen hanging in a row and organized by length. Her hand hovered over a rondel dagger. She’d never seen anything like it. The blade was _four-edged_. “I got it,” she finally said. “You want me to kill the demon with the box.”

“I want you to kill the _human_ with the box,” the Mayor stated.

Human. Faith’s hand dropped to her side.

“Ah, I see you really do understand now. This is a test, Faith. Are you loyal to me? Will you do, as you were happy to tell me, anything I ask?” His voice hardened. “Or are you a liability?”

“You gotta ask?” Faith had enough emotion left to feel fear. Why? Her life was over. One way or the other, there was no way out of this alive. Either the Mayor would decide he didn’t trust her or need her, or Buffy would find her and turn her over to the Council.

The dagger stayed in place on the wall. “How’re you gonna know if I kill the guy?” Faith probed in case she had missed an escape route.

“I’ll know.” How could Faith have ever thought his eyes were kind? They were hard and cold.

“Whatever.” Faith faced reality. The Mayor held all the cards. She was going to have to kill the guy at the airport. She’d thought her hopes were already shattered until the very last sliver of hope withered and died. With wooden movements, Faith snagged a compound bow and a couple of arrows. “This’ll do.” And she might be far enough away to avoid seeing the life drain from the courier’s eyes when the arrow hit. “Any other tests I gotta pass?” If he’d read her file like he claimed, the Mayor had to know she always failed.

Closing the vault, the Mayor shook his head. “Not tonight. Go home,” he ordered. “And don’t bother coming in tomorrow. There’s no need to continue pretending I need you to beef up my security team.”

Of course. Pretend. It had all been a lie. “See ya’ tomorrow. I’ll be the one carryin’ the box.” Faith slung the bow diagonally her back and headed for the door with plodding steps. She couldn’t go to the apartment. The Mayor’s apartment, not hers. Faith would never think of it as hers again. And she wasn’t heading to the DMP, either. Her stomach was already in an uproar. With no place to go, Faith started walking. Eventually she reached downtown.

That’s when Faith felt it. A tickle in her senses. She spun slowly but didn’t see anything. The blip on her radar remained as the bright lights of downtown faded to intermittent street lights and residential houses. Faith had a vampire on her tail, most likely the Mayor’s insurance policy. A way to ensure Faith didn’t run to the Scoobies or leave town without completing his test.

The arrows clutched in her hand were smooth. They’d fit the bowstring perfectly. Once shot and the Mayor’s flunky would be dust in the wind.

Instead of taking out the vampire, Faith kept walking. If this vamp didn’t report in, there would be more. She crossed the tracks and entered the warehouse district. The place where her nightmare in Sunnydale had started. A nightmare that was still playing. Before long, Faith spotted Willy’s bar ahead.

It wasn’t the location she’d choose on a good day. Today, though, was far from good. She pushed open the metal door with far less verve than the last time. It actually stayed on its hinges. The reaction of the patrons was the same, though. They ran. It cleared a path to the bar, and Faith took it. “Bottle of Jack and a glass,” she told Willy, slumping onto a bar stool.

“I’m not letting you tear up my bar again. You want information, you can pay like everyone else.” Willy’s fangs gleamed.

“Did I ask you to spill your guts?” Faith snapped. “Just give me a fucking drink and leave me alone.” Faith tossed the arrows onto the bar top and picked up the glass Willy set in front of her. It was dirty, but it didn’t matter. She filled it with whiskey and tossed it back. Without the Coke to mask the burn, Faith nearly choked.

The buzz was immediate. Good. A buzz was good. To start with. Faith needed more, though. She needed total oblivion. A way to forget today and ignore tomorrow. She went through half the bottle before the memory of the Mayor and his ritual faded beneath the alcoholic haze. Unfortunately, the booze couldn’t deaden her senses. They continued to scream and pump adrenaline through her veins until Faith shook like a junkie suffering withdrawals as Willy’s usual customers returned to their tables.

Faith wasn’t a threat at the moment, right? She filled her glass again, spilling only a few drops on the bar from poor aim. Turning so she could see the barroom, she toasted the demons eyeing her defenseless back before drinking. If one of the evil little fuckers got brave enough to try…

A kernel of an idea wormed its way into Faith’s mind.

She was drunk. On her way to completely trashed. If she got into a fight now, there was a good chance she wouldn’t win. Another drink burned Faith’s throat. Would that be a bad thing? Faith hadn’t wanted to play by the Council’s rules, but that didn’t mean she wanted to throw her fate in with whatever crap the Mayor had planned. She couldn’t run away. She couldn’t stay.

With each glass of whiskey, Faith accepted the truth: it would be easier to let one of these vampires or demons have a free shot.

Her crappy day wasn’t over. Not one of Willy’s patrons appeared willing to attack. Faith emptied the bottle and part of another. The room rocked and swayed when she finally stood up. Taking two shuffling steps toward the exit, Faith remembered her arrows. She lurched back and grabbed them. Couldn’t kill the courier without them.

She laughed out loud, ignoring the stares from the other drinkers. If she managed to stay drunk, she wouldn’t be able to kill the courier _with_ the arrows. She might just accidentally shoot herself. No, Faith thought. That wouldn’t work. Her aim wasn’t the best even when she was stone cold sober. She’d probably miss anything important and shoot herself in the foot.

The solution to all her problems came as she stumbled past the Sun Cinema. It was so simple. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Faith changed course. She didn’t want to go to the apartment anymore. She needed another drink. One with a specific bartender.

It was more crowded than it had been for her last visit. The play area was packed, and the crack of whips merged with the constant moans and cries of the submissives. Faith waved off a pair of Dominants who converged on her. “Jack and Coke,” she told the bartender, daring him to refuse her again. “Or you still worried about that Brit?”

“You gonna run out of here like a new sub at her first scene again?” he taunted. But he did put her drink on the bar.

Faith flinched at the reminder. “Not lookin’ for another mother.” Her head still buzzed from her binge at Willy’s. Faith reached for the new drink and downed it anyway. She waved the glass, requesting another drink. Faith didn’t want to be sober until she had to meet the courier.

“You’re already drunk. This is the last one you get.” A lecture _and_ the amount of liquid in the glass was less. The bartender crossed his arms. “You got a problem, kid. I’m not mommy material, and I don’t want to be. And I’m not going to jail because you walk out of here and kill somebody in a drunken rage.”

Kill somebody. The bartender must be psychic. Faith finished the drink and held out the glass.

“Last one.” The bartender stood firm.

That was fine. Faith could go back to Willy’s if she really needed more booze. But she reached out and grabbed the bartender by the collar, pulling his face in close. If anyone was watching, they’d think she was about to threaten the bartender. “Need ya’ to do something for me.”

“Kid…” Faith was really tired of that nickname. “Unless you want me to call the police...”

“Call the Brit. I know ya’ got his number. He left it when he was chasin’ me the last time,” Faith said in a tight whisper. “Call him. Right now.” He stiffened, and Faith maintained a death grip on his shirt. “You call and you tell whoever answers the phone to be at the airport tomorrow night at seven.”

With a shove, Faith let him go. “Do it now. Don’t let ‘em know who you are or that you got the info from me. Call, say what I told ya’, and hang up.” Without waiting to see if he would do as she asked, Faith tossed all the money in her wallet onto the bar and turned away.

The bartender was right. She was very drunk. No one would serve her now except Willy. Faith didn’t want to go back there, though. The atmosphere here was better. Friendlier. “Hey, stud,” she told a muscled Dominant who had a submissive on his lap. No collar. Faith smirked. No competition. “You looking for a date tonight?”

***

“What about the Council?” Tara guessed it was a measure of Buffy’s exhaustion that she willingly asked Wesley for help. “Did they find anything? Do they have any sources in the demon world? We need to know what was in those Books!”

They’d all been repeating that for hours. Tara was glad to have had a respite during her Magic 101 class. The same questions and the same lack of answers filled the Library with gloom. She slumped tiredly against the couch and watched Buffy pace.

“Well?” Buffy demanded. “What has the Council been doing to help, Wes? We’ve gone through every book in this Library twice. Will’s the only one who’s found _anything._ What do you and the Council have?”

With an offended sniff, Wesley answered, “The Council have their best experts combing the archives for any information on the Ascension.”

Closing her eyes, Tara let the constant buzz in her head drowned out the conversation. The buzz had been there all afternoon. She couldn’t feel Faith anymore. Couldn’t even see the link in her mind. Tara back panic and tears with difficulty. Where was Faith? Had something happened to her?

“Let’s do be reasonable.” Wesley’s nasal whine bore into Tara’s brain like a scalpel. “We have not given the researchers enough time to find anything of use. We must remain calm and keep our emotions under control.”

“Perhaps in this case, Wesley is correct.” Tara opened her eyes in surprise at Giles’ comment. “We have accomplished exactly nothing this evening. And I do not believe we would recognize…” He broke off as his phone rang. “Ah! Perhaps this is the Council now. Researchers often keep odd hours.” Picking up the handset, he cleared his throat. “Sunnydale Slayer House. Rupert Giles speaking.”

No one in the room moved. They all watched Giles frown. “What? Excuse me. Could you…” He hung up and sat staring at the phone.

“Rupert?” Joyce was the first to prod him into action. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced up and shook his head. “It was an odd sort of conversation. When I answered, the caller simply told me that I should go to the airport tomorrow at seven. Before I could say anything, he disconnected.”

“A wrong number?” Buffy asked with a yawn. “I mean, I would have asked you if your refrigerator was running before hanging up, but maybe this guy was new at the whole prank call thing.”

Her comment drew a giggle from Willow. The rest of the group seemed too tired to laugh. Or, in the new Slayer’s case, too uptight. “Why do you make jokes? I thought we were tryin’ to find answers. You should be workin’ harder than dis.” The accent was different, yet Tara thought Kendra’s attitude was pure Wesley. No wonder he’d gone all the way to wherever to pick her up. She was the epitome of what the Council obviously wanted in a Slayer.

“Oh, I only work on every other Tuesday. And today’s Wednesday. Or…” Buffy peered at her bare wrist as if there was a watch there. “It’s Thursday now. Check back with me then.” This time, the core Scoobies smiled at her joking. “But you do have a point. We are trying to find answers. Maybe this _is_ one. Anybody know what’s happening at the airport tomorrow? Is the Mayor holding a press conference to announce he’s turning into a demon?”

 _“Doamn_ _ᾰ_?” Willow’s hands were poised over her backpack. “Flight schedules aren’t a secret. I won’t have to hack into anything.”

“Go ahead, _drag_ _ᾰ.”_ Janna stroked a finger along the edge of Willow’s collar. “Just please refrain from leaving any messages about the state of airport security. I do not think this is the time for a lecture on taking precautions against hackers.” There was a hint of sternness in the words, and Tara wondered if Willow had actually done that before.

The flush staining Willow’s cheeks indicated yes. She didn’t respond, however. Instead, she dragged her computer out and began typing.

“While Willow checks flight schedules, let’s review what we know.” Giles stood and moved to a cork board that had been attached to one of the book cases. “The Mayor,” he pointed to a newspaper photo on the board, “is attempting to Ascend. According to Willow’s internet, this means he will eventually become a demon.”

“How does he get there, though?” Joyce moved around the room, cleaning up empty glasses and plates of crumbs. “Janna? Is there a spell for something like that?”

“Not a single spell,” Janna answered. “I can’t even imagine the kind of power he would need to transform. I reached out to some local covens,” Tara idly wondered if that meant Melody. “There are dozens of spells that will _temporarily_ change an object. _Small_ objects, like a book or a ring. But a person?”

Something tugged at Tara. Some memory. Standing up, she went to the board and peered at the grainy black and white photo of the Mayor. “Mr. Giles, I’ve seen that picture before.”

“Well, I daresay it has been in the papers. A stock photo…”

“No. I saw it today at City Hall.” She didn’t see the way his eyes widened at her announcement. Tara was too busy staring at the photo. “It was an old photo from the 1800s. Richard Wilkins I, the founder of Sunnydale.”

Giles patted her shoulder. “Family resemblance can sometimes be uncanny.”

It could be, but Tara was certain it was more than that. The eyes. The set of the chin. That smirk. She’d seen that same expression when Faith had chosen the Mayor over her. “It’s the same man, Mr. Giles.”

“That isn’t possible.” Giles didn’t appear convinced of that, though. He, too, examined the photo more closely.

“Well, while you’re figuring that out, it looks like your caller might not have been pranking you, Giles,” Willow announced. “There are no commercial flights scheduled after five tomorrow. But there _is_ a private flight landing at Hanger Three at seven.”

“Kendra and I will check it out.” Buffy leaned over and kissed Xander’s cheek. “We can’t take too long, though. Xan and I have a date to check out collars. He’s letting me make an honest sub out of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting patiently for this chapter. I'm going to beg your indulgence one more time. I'm letting Real Life suck me in for the next two weeks but I'll be back with another chapter on the 17th.


	38. Chapter 38

Buffy’s announcement effectively ended the research party. Wesley and Kendra followed Buffy and the rest of the Summers Clan out of the Library. Janna and Willow packed up her laptop and cuddled.

Tara didn’t care about any of it. She had to find a way to get Faith away from the Mayor. At best, he was a regular human scheming to become a demon. As Janna had pointed out, that came with a lot of power. Probably a series of rituals and special steps, ways to slowly collect the energy needed for the final transformation. At worst… the Mayor was a nearly hundred year-old being about to become a demon. Best and worst cases were very closely related, and they each spelled almost certain disaster.

“You went to City Hall today?” Giles’ question was quiet enough to keep Janna and Willow from overhearing.

It was a pointless question. Tara had already admitted as much when she’d mentioned seeing the photo of Richard Wilkins I. Remaining silent, she waited for him to get to the point.

His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “Had I met this version of you at the Social, I might not have felt so concerned about being called away.”

Without conscious thought, Tara raised an eyebrow. They had work to do. Giles should know that.

Work or not, her eyebrow caused Giles to smile – and back off. “My apologies. All the time with the children has eroded my sense of decorum.” Gesturing at the photo of the Mayor, he asked, “When you left, you said you needed to be somewhere. What did you need at City Hall?”

“I tried to talk to Faith. I thought…” Tara broke off, frustration flooding her. “I th-thought if I c-could get her away from him…” _Him_. The Mayor. “B-but she didn’t w-want to go. She’s m-moving on.”

Giles placed a gentle hand on Tara’s shoulder. “I’m so very sorry, Tara.”

He spoke as if Tara had given up. She hadn’t. Not quite. Only almost.  Until the bond was completely gone, when the faint buzz at the back of her mind totally disappeared, _then_ Tara would exchange her black cuff for one in red. “So am I.” Stiffening her spine, she announced in ringing tones, “But the Mayor is _not going to win_.” Not by becoming a demon. Certainly not by stealing Tara’s bondmate.

***

Finding a solution for the Mayor wasn’t as simple as studying for a final exam. Tara stared at the thick tomes taking up every inch of floor space in Maxie and Trish’s living room and rubbed her burning eyes. Why had she thought she could find an answer when the entire House staff had failed?

The burn grew worse, and the living room blurred.

Tara slammed the book in her lap closed. No. This wasn’t going to happen. They couldn’t lose. _She_ couldn’t lose.

“Hey!” Maxie breezed into the house, followed by a bag-laden Trish. “We haven’t seen you in forever. I thought maybe you’d moved out and didn’t tell us.”

Despite carrying a dozen plastic grocery bags, Trish managed to get a hand free. She popped Maxie on the ass. “Really? Really, Maxie? I’m going to have to buy a bigger paddle.” The scolding would probably have had more effect if Trish hadn’t been laughing. She stopped when she noticed the books all over the living room – and Tara’s expression.

Trish dumped the bags on the floor. “Put the cold stuff away, Max.” Picking her way through the piles of books, she knelt in next to Tara. “You don’t look so hot.  And these books didn’t come from campus.” With gentle hands, she pulled the book off Tara’s lap. “You went to the House last night. You weren’t here when Maxie and I left for class. Have you slept at all?”

“Do you always ask questions when you already know the answer?” Tara tried to take the book back. She had to keep looking for answers.

Putting the book safely on the floor behind her, Trish grabbed Tara’s hands tightly. “Which do you prefer? Questions or me dragging you to the bedroom and cuffing you to the bed?”

“Take the questions,” Maxie called from the kitchen. “Trish pulled that Dominant crap the first year we were together and I got pneumonia. Cuffs are hot when the toys are out and the mood is right. They suck beyond belief when there’s no mood and an alarm clock is the only accessory involved.”

“I don’t have time to sleep,” Tara snapped. Normally, the Trish and Maxie Show made her laugh. Helped her forget whatever had been bothering her. Right now, though, Tara longed for her single dorm room and the privacy it offered.

Trish didn’t respond. She continued to hold Tara’s hands and stare at her.

The stare was right out of the Dominance for Dummies handbook. _Give the submissive time – and the right setting – for admitting their error._ But Tara wasn’t a submissive. And hadn’t made a mistake. “Give me the book, Trish.” Tara would pack up and go back to the House.

“Not going to happen, Tar.” Trish refused to budge. “You look like Hell. You weren’t in class this morning. You need to stop…” she waved a hand at the living room, “whatever it is you’re doing here and get some rest.”

“Trish! Give me the damned book!” Tara shouted – and then stared in horror at her friend.

Instead of growing angry, Trish simply asked, “When was the last time you slept, Tar?”

“I…I d-don’t rem-member.” At least a full day ago. Probably more. It was Thursday afternoon now. She vaguely recalled staggering into the kitchen yesterday morning.

“And from the state of the living room, you’ve been working for a while.” Trish was relentless. Quiet, polite, and _not_ going away.

Tara examined the living room, too. Giles would have a heart attack. The big book on ancient demonology was priceless. It was buried – still open – under stack of other works. If the pages were so much as wrinkled…

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Trish’s voice blended smoothly with the mini-Giles voice in Tara’s imagination. “I bet you didn’t. I bet you’ve sat here since right after we left this morning, scouring all these books, and you haven’t found anything.”

Nothing. Not one single thing, which was why Tara had to get back to work. “Trish, I have to…”

“Go to bed for a few hours.” Trish got up, pulling Tara with her. “When you wake up, you can tell us what you’re looking for and Maxie and I will help you find it.”

Trish was wrong. Tara couldn’t go to bed. Unfortunately, Tara’s mind gave in to the ever-present buzz from the link and the fog of exhaustion. She couldn’t fight any more. Numbly following Trish down the hallway, Tara vowed to get back to work. Soon.

***

Faith rolled out of bed and groaned. She hurt everywhere.

Whoever was knocking on the door didn’t care.

“What the fuck do you want?” Faith snarled as she yanked open the door.

The bartender from last night glared back. “I let you sleep in, kid. You paid for the time, but you’ve got to clear out. This isn’t a hotel.” Then his eyes dropped and widened. “What happened? Shit! I knew that Dom was bad news. Let me call…”

“Give me five and I’ll be out.” Faith slammed the door in his face and limped around the room, hunting for her clothes. Her shirt was under the bed. Her pants near the entrance to the tiny bathroom. Dragging them on was a lesson in pain. Not that it mattered. She’d be feeling exactly nothing soon. Faith spotted one of her boots in the tub. Its mate and her weapons were still missing in action. Muttering under her breath, Faith grabbed the boot.

That’s when she caught her reflection in the mirror.

No wonder the bartender had flipped out. Bruises marred her face, and clear finger marks shone around her throat. Lifting her T-shirt showed welts marred with dried blood.

_“Get cleaned up.” Shoving Faith toward the bathroom, her mother glanced around the room. “What the fuck did you do? Fight? I told you – you do what the customers tell you. Stupid bitch. If I didn’t need you ready for the next one, I’d beat you myself.”_

If only her mother had made that threat a couple of years later, after Faith had been Chosen. Things might have gone a whole lot differently. The bruises on Faith’s throat mocked her. She was still letting people fuck her up. Faith dropped the shirt and fled the bathroom. Tossing furniture and discarded sex toys out of the way, she finally located her missing boot, the bow, and her arrows. As she strode stiffly from the room, she saw the cops enter the bar. Fucking great. So much for thinking the bartender was scared of her.

Turning the other direction in the hall, she jogged toward the emergency exit. There were no cops in the street out back. Faith used that to her advantage. She had work to do.

A human had to die tonight. The question was: would it be the courier – or Faith, herself?

The clock at the Sun Cinema ticket booth said it was only six fifteen. Too early to meet the courier. Faith stuffed her hands in her pockets and plodded slowly down the sidewalk.

People gave her a wide berth. A few of them paused, staring. On any other day, Faith might have stared back. Tonight…Tonight Faith ducked her head to hide the bruising and kept walking. Button pushing took energy. She had none to spare. The good people of Sunnydale got a free pass because Faith was too tired and hurt too badly to scowl and mock.

She slunk away instead. Which gave her time to think. Was she really going through with this? Faith fingered the bowstring running diagonally across her chest. The Mayor expected her to kill some guy with a box. It was a win-win situation for him. The Mayor needed to do whatever evil shit he had planned, and it made Faith a full participant. She’d be part of his team; there would be no evidence, real or fake, showing the courier had died by accident.

It all added up to one thing: Faith’s options hadn’t changed since last night. It was kill the guy or die. If the bartender had actually called Giles. If the Scoobies didn’t write it off as a crank call. Buffy could swoop in to save the day. The Golden Girl would get the box and would put Faith out of her misery.

Fair enough. Faith watched her feet hit the concrete in a slow, steady rhythm. It was inevitable that one foot would follow the other. Her life was the same way. No matter what she did, she made the wrong choices. And no matter what happened tonight, her life was over.

A little of her tension eased. Why get all twisted up when Faith knew she was doomed?

By the time Faith reached the airport, the terminal was dark. Faith skirted it and climbed a chain-link fence to get to the private hangers. A few lights shone inside the large barn-like structures. Faith stayed in the shadows until she located Hanger Three. It was deserted, but she heard footsteps approaching. Time to find a place to hide and wait for the plane to land. There was a service ladder leading to the roof. No one would look for her up there, and it would provide a perfect line of sight when Faith…made her decision.

“…so what was I supposed to do? I mean, come on. I’m bonded. Not dead,” a man complained as Faith scurried up the ladder. “All the whips and chains in the world aren’t going to keep me from looking at other women, right?”

His companion laughed. “How’d that work out for you?”

“Well….” The first speaker lowered his voice, and Faith wondered who he thought was out here to eavesdrop on his lame conversation. “Worked out pretty good. The Domme’s hot when she’s pissed. And maybe I wasn’t unhappy to be all strung up and worked over.”

“You really think Patty didn’t know that?” The other man shook his head. “Even you aren’t that stupid. How many years you been together now? Ten? Fifteen? That shit you pull’s like foreplay for both of you by now.”

Faith rolled her eyes and pulled the bow over her head. The string was still tight. The gears moved smoothly. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze. Unless Buffy got here soon, the courier was dead. Faith was good enough to make this shot.

The bruises on her throat ached. Too bad the Dom last night hadn’t misjudged his timing or the force of his grip. Buffy wouldn’t have the same problem. Faith smiled at that. Buffy was the best; she was the best, and she didn’t see in shades of gray. Buffy was all about black or white. Faith was definitely standing in the black right now.

Dragging heavy blocks across the pavement and donning heavy ear protection, the two men prepared for the incoming flight.

_“Do you ever see yourself with a partner, Faith?” Diana’s doctor friend asked. He’d been pestering her with questions since Diana had left her in the office._

_Rather than answer, Faith kicked her feet out and stared at her shoe laces. The one on the left wasn’t the same length as the one on the right. Did that mean anything? Like was her one hand better at tying than the other? Would the fat guy behind the desk know the answer to that?_

_“A strong Dominant maybe? Someone you could lean on, who would comfort you?” The guy was a moron. Comfort Faith? More like beat the crap out of her and rape her. “Or someone for you to care for. You’re a Slayer. You’ve already got a strong need to protect…”_

_Faith hunched lower in her chair. She’d never managed to protect herself from all those johns. A submissive would never be safe with her._

The men below scurried away from the hanger as an engine roared nearby. The plane was coming in.

Faith was out of time. Would all this have been different if she’d bonded? If she’d had a Xander waiting for her at home, would Faith have fought the Council so hard? The memory of his eyes, wet with tears and despair the night he’d come looking for Buffy, pulled at her.

Snorting, Faith rolled her shoulders in preparation for drawing the bowstring. Xander and his fucking puppy dog eyes wouldn’t have mattered at all. He’d have seen right through her if they’d been together for more than that one good fuck.

Another pair of eyes invaded her thoughts. Cold blue warming to indigo. A raised eyebrow. _“Am I losing Dominant points now, sweetie?”_ Faith smiled even as her lingering hangover made her head throb in time with the approaching engine.

Tara’s sub was one lucky bitch.

The plane rolled into view, and the airport workers jammed the blocks they’d gotten in front of the wheels and hooked up a myriad of cables and hoses.

Faith rose as the men rolled a metal staircase up to the plane and the door opened. The first arrow slid easily onto the bowstring.

As she drew the string back and rested it against her cheek, a shiver raced up Faith’s arm. Perfect. Buffy was here. “Come and get me, B.” The sooner the better because the courier was coming down the stairs now. He had a box clutched to his chest. That was going to make things difficult. Headshots required skill. But if she got him in the leg or the shoulder the first time, he’d drop that box in a hurry. The second shot would be one even Faith couldn’t miss.

The courier was clear of the plane and the airport workers. He stood like a big patsy in the middle of the tarmac. The perfect target. Damn it, Buffy was going to be too late.

Closing her left eye, Faith honed in on the courier’s shoulder and let out her breath slowly. Slowly. Until everything stilled and she knew it was the right moment to… “Oof!” Faith hit the ground hard with Buffy attached to her chest. The bow clattered down next to her. “Hey, B,” she wheezed. “Whatcha doing at the airport? You finally gettin’ a life and leaving Sunnydale?”

Her head rocked to one side as Buffy slugged her. “Shut up.” There was a wild look in Buffy’s eyes.

“Make me.” Faith might know her fate; that didn’t mean Buffy wasn’t going to have to work to make it happen. She blocked Buffy next punch – easily. The swing was wide and uncontrolled. “Really? That’s all ya’ got?” _Faith’s_ blow was a picture perfect uppercut that lifted Buffy up and off. Scrambling to her feet, Faith took off. She cleared the roof and slid down the ladder, ignoring the burn of torn and blistered skin from the descent.

Buffy’s footsteps pounded on the tarmac behind her. It spurred Faith almost over the fence until a hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled.

Faith landed hard again. Not as hard as the kick Buffy planted in her stomach. All of the air rushed from her lungs, which meant there was barely breath for a whimper when Buffy’s fist crashed into Faith’s nose. No breath. Plenty of blood, though. Faith gagged as she inhaled some of it in an attempt to replace the lost air.

***

“Hey, Sleepyhead. I hope we didn’t wake you up.” Monica lounged on the couch with Drew kneeling at her feet. “I told pretty boy to be quiet but he can’t help himself.” She smacked Drew, leaving a handprint on his cheek.

His head dropped and he seemed to inch even closer to Monica’s legs.

Tara forced a smile. “No. I didn’t even know you were here.” She’d passed out the second her head had hit the pillow and would have slept until the next day if everything didn’t hurt so badly. Pain lanced her head and settled on her chest. The link was fading. Tara could barely see it now; although, she could certainly _feel_ it. Like someone squeezing her heart in a vice. She wasn’t even sure how she had the energy or the motivation to stand up and move.

“Trish took Maxie to grab dinner. I have very strict instructions – like I’m a worthless submissive now – to settle you in and pamper you.” Monica didn’t smile. Her eyes examined Tara like the experienced Dominant she was. “And that’s why Drew isn’t naked and in his humbler. _I_ will lounge and chat; _Drew_ will pamper and serve.”

“Please, Ma’am, have a seat. Is there anything I can get for you?” Drew rarely said much. Or…Tara didn’t remember anything he’d said the first time they’d met. She surely didn’t remember the twinkle in his eye or the bright grin. “Mistress says I give wonderful foot massages.”

Monica reached out and tugged his hair, but there was a tender expression on her face. “Shut up, little worm.”

Stumbling to the couch on rubbery legs, Tara shook her head. “Thank you, Drew, but my feet are just fine.” Was he as talented with heart or head massages? Actually, a brain massage sounded fantastic. The fog in her mind was so thick, Tara struggled to put two thoughts together.

“Drew, get Tara something to drink. Water, if I remember from the party.” Drew was up in a flash. “You don’t look good. Should you even be up? Trish can be a little blind sometimes. She thought you just needed to sleep. If you want to hole up in the bedroom, I’ll let her know you’re sick. And I can send Drew out to Walgreens to pick something up to let you sleep.”

“No. No, I’m fine,” Tara lied.

Monica crossed her arms and simply _looked_ at Tara. On the Dominance scale, she was much higher than Trish could ever hope to be. Tara, too.

“I’ll rest tomorrow.” Tara fought the urge to squirm under the weight of Monica’s continued scrutiny. “I…you know I work for the Slayer House. There’s some research that can’t wait.” Research. The Mayor. Tara forgot all about Monica and her crusty glare. “What time is it?”

When Monica didn’t answer fast enough, Tara snatched up Monica’s wrist and peered at her watch. A little after eight. She’d slept through the delivery at the airport. And no one had called. Monica and Drew would have passed along the message, if there had been one. A little more of Tara’s motivation drained away. Closing her eyes, she slumped back on the couch.

 _Where are you, Faith_? Tara asked the silence in her mind. _Why won’t you let me in_? In. That was a joke. Faith wasn’t merely shutting Tara out, she was closing off any hope they had of actually bonding. Tara suddenly realized she wasn’t going to let that happen. It was selfish of her. After all, it might be the absolutely wrong decision – for her and for Faith. And Tara didn’t give a damn. Faith was hers. Tara was going to make sure Faith knew that.

Something warm and soft wrapped around her, and Tara’s eyes fluttered open. Drew ducked his head as he smoothed a blanket over Tara. “Would you like a pillow, Ma’am?”

“This is perfect, Drew. Monica’s a very lucky woman.” His grin indicated he already knew that. Tara closed her eyes again, barely aware of Monica and Drew in the room. She was done playing it safe. If Faith was stubborn, Tara could and would be even more stubborn. This was a fight Tara vowed not to lose.

Pretending to sleep, she pulled her awareness down and in. The mental fog _was_ thick, and it swirled and clung to Tara’s astral form. She pushed past it until she came to the link. The opening was a bare slit. No light leaked from the fissure. It was dark and cold and ominous.

This wasn’t a horror movie, though, and Tara wasn’t a shrinking, screaming victim. She was an angry Adept. A Dominant with a submissive who needed her – even if Faith didn’t want to admit that. As she had during the Trial, Tara used only her personal energy stores. She would not risk dragging something evil into the mix because she had not cast a Circle. Quickly shaping the energy, Tara pushed it between the crimped edges of the link and…pried. The link opened for a heartbeat before dropping closed.

There was nothing _inside_ the link to hold it open. It was completely dormant.

Fine. It would just take more power. Tara opened the floodgates to her energy store and poured magic into the link. This time, the bond exploded open and Tara’s power surged into the conduit. The link held as Tara let her awareness swim with the current of magic toward Faith.

***

One of Faith’s eyes was swollen shut. She couldn’t see the punch that launched her over the couch in her living room. They’d battled all over Sunnydale, leaving a swath of destruction behind. It was fitting that it all ended right here in her apartment. Right where she’d let the Mayor worm his way into her heart. Sprawled on the floor, she wondered why they were still fighting. Why she kept getting up. She didn’t want to win. She wanted Buffy to finish this; finish _her._ But every time it seemed Faith was down and out, Buffy pulled back. It was unbelievable. What the Hell was Buffy doing?

If Buffy wouldn’t cross the line on her own, Faith would push her across it. She was the expert at pushing, after all. Especially with Buffy. Scrambling to her feet, Faith murmured, “Who’d they send to replace me, B?” She hadn’t met many of the other Slayers at the Social; she knew the type Wes would have picked, though. “Bet she’s worse than Wes at quotin’ rules.”

Buffy ignored her, advancing around the ruined furniture.

“Know what I think?” Talking hurt – and it made the cuts on Faith’s lips bleed more.

“Not really interested,” Buffy snapped back.

Faith laughed. Buffy was nothing if not predictable. “Sure ya’ are. ‘Course, I think you already know. Watcher Wes brought just the right Slayer to town this time. Not one like you and me, B. One of them kids the Council trained since they was little. A Slayer that don’t ask questions.”

Only the sounds of their panting breaths filled the room for a minute.

“Next thing, you’re gonna be out of a job,” Faith taunted. She was ready for Buffy this time. Faith automatically blocked the kick to her head and ruthlessly swept Buffy’s pivot foot out from under her. She grinned tightly when Buffy’s head connected with the floor. Nothing pissed Buffy off more than losing. “But you havin’ a job won’t matter.”

The rest of her taunt had to wait. Buffy was on her feet faster than Faith anticipated, and they were off again. The apartment would never be the same. Faith left a body-print in the refrigerator as Buffy slammed her back against it. Unused utensils and glass containers shattered on the floor when Faith slid along the counter and off the far end.

Faith dragged herself up – in time to duck the chair Buffy chucked at her. It hurtled through the windows to the roof. Faith dragged herself up and out of the window behind it. She’d make her “final stand” here. If Buffy couldn’t get the job done…well, it was a long way down to the sidewalk. Even a Slayer couldn’t survive that.

This needed to end. Taking a deep breath, Faith stopped in the middle of the roof and faced off with Buffy. “You should leave the Council, B. Come join me and the Mayor.”

“So I can turn into a killer like you?” Buffy’s words landed harder than any of her punches had, but Faith refused to let that show. “There’s no way you’re walking away from this.”

If only Buffy knew. “Ya’ think? From where I’m standing, there’s no way _you_ can win, B. The Mayor’s like invincible or some shit.” Sliding forward a step, Faith kept searching for the right button to push. She didn’t understand the way Buffy was acting, why she watched Faith so closely without attacking. “You’re done, B. Done, just like you were always scared would happen.”

Yes! That was it. That was the right button. Buffy’s eyes flickered; her fists tightened. “You told Xan you’d keep him safe, didn’t you? You’re a fucking liar. You can’t stop this, B. When this all goes down, the Boss’ll kill Xan. And the Scoobies. They’ll all be dead and it’ll be your fault.”

With a scream of rage, Buffy tackled Faith. Punches rocked Faith’s head back and forth. Her ears rang; her vision grew hazy. Faith thought her head might crumple with the next blow.

And that’s when Buffy stopped and leaned back. Tears tracked through the blood and dirt on her face. “Why, Faith? Why would you…do this?”

Holy fuck. Only Buffy would be seconds away from killing Faith and stop to ask fucking questions. Faith had been ready to die. She’d accepted it. Made her peace with it. And Buffy wanted to have a _conversation_? “You want…the truth?” she gasped. One hand found purchase on Buffy’s collar and pulled her in a little closer.

“It didn’t have to be like this.” Buffy stared imploringly at Faith. Was she stupid enough to think Faith was going to surrender? She wasn’t letting the Council lock her up and suck away her powers.

“Ah, hell, B…” Faith gathered all her remaining strength and snapped her hips up. Because of her position, Buffy was catapulted over Faith’s head. Faith managed to get to her knees and threw herself on top of Buffy. She drew her dagger, pressing the blade to Buffy’s throat. “Why do you _always_ gotta fuck things up for me? Huh? You weren’t supposed to lose, B. You _never_ lose, and I was countin’ on that.” More blood joined the dark rust of Willow’s dried blood on the knife. Faith’s hand shook and she tightened her muscles until they ached in order to hold the dagger steady. “I’m sorry.” She leaned more of her weight onto Buffy, and…

Pressure exploded inside Faith’s head. It ballooned until Faith cried out. Another voice, a voice so cold and commanding she shuddered under its force, announced, “ _Don’t you dare!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another note. I'm giving in to RL until the end of the year and will only be posting every other week. By then... Well, by then I can only hope work slows down. The little Faith and Tara voices in my head don't like it when I can't let them out to play every day.


	39. Chapter 39

“What exactly did you think you were doing?” Tara demanded. She tossed off the blanket and stood up. The room spun so rapidly she clutched the arm of the sofa. “Well?”

Drew stared at her from the floor. “Ma’am?”

Tara ignored him, all her focus on the confused and despairing presence on the other end of the bond. She had to get to Faith. Now. Before Faith crossed a line, never to return.

“Tara!” Monica grabbed her arms. “Honey, your nose is bleeding, and you look like you’re going to pass out. Sit down. Are you sick? Do you need us to take you to the emergency room?” She stayed rock solid in front of Tara, refusing to let Tara make a run for the door.

“Let me go.” Tara’s voice was soft yet intense. “I have to find Faith.” If Monica didn’t move, she would have to make her. Unfortunately, that would take energy. Energy Tara no longer had in her reservoir. Breaking through to Faith had been far harder than Tara had expected. She’d drained her inner resources. Need outweighed safety. _Faith_ outweighed safety. Monica would get out of the way, or Tara would take matters into her own hands. If Willow could do magic without casting a formal Circle, Tara could do it, too.

Nodding slowly, Monica murmured, “I can see something’s wrong. Who’s Faith? Honey, whatever Drew and I can do to help, we will. But I will _not_ let you leave on your own in this condition.”

Oh, Goddess. Tara wrenched away. She didn’t have time for this. She could feel Faith. Feel Faith’s confusion and pain and bottomless self-hatred. Tara shuddered as the emotions sucked at her, pulling her toward a well of despair.

“I’ve got my keys.” Monica interrupted Tara’s communion with Faith. “Tell me where to take you.”

“I need to get to Faith,” Tara repeated. Hadn’t she said that already? Was Monica deaf or stupid?

“OK.” Monica started for the door, and Drew fell in at her heels. “Should I just get in the car and start driving? Or is Faith somewhere specific? I have to warn you, my sometimes space cadet sub didn’t fill the gas tank the last time he used the car. I probably can’t make it any farther than Gilroy – and you may have to push us the last few miles.”

Tara’s hands curled into fists.

“Mistress, now might not be a good time for attitude.” Drew winced at Monica’s glare but didn’t back down. “Ma’am…Tara,” stumbling over her name, he hovered uncertainly in front of Tara. “Please tell us how to help you.”

Help. Everyone wanted to help. All they managed to do was get in the way. The droplets of power remaining in Tara’s reservoir began to shimmer; she pulled at them, shaping them into a ball of energy that burned hot and bright and ready to fly free on command.

Before her control shattered, Tara heard, _“A bond? With Tara?”_

The energy ball spinning in Tara’s reservoir flamed out between one heartbeat and the next.

Faith wasn’t really talking through the bond. Yet Tara was still able to pick up the disbelieving mental chatter. Her insides withered as Faith’s already dark emotions grew bleaker and filled Tara’s heart. _“I don’t…She won’t want me. She’ll find out I fucked up again. Why didn’t B just kill me when she had the chance?”_

Reeling from the thoughts flooding the link, Tara went to her knees and gripped her head. _“Faith.”_ Her response didn’t dent the wave of emotion rolling toward her through the bond.

_“…high enough. If I jump…”_ Grim determination and intent eclipsed Faith’s previous inner rambling.

Tara forced her mind to calm and gathered all her own determination into her next set of commands. “Stop. Now. You will _not_ jump, Faith. You will not do _anything_ or go _anywhere_ until I get there. Not. One. Single. Step.” And then, because she couldn’t stand to rap out orders without soothing some of Faith’s disbelief, she said, _“I do want you, my Slayer. So much. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how happy I am?”_

It was a mistake. She sensed Faith recoil. Faith thought Tara was lying.

Tears threatened at the silent rebuff. The truth was that _Faith didn’t want Tara._

Swirling confusion filled Tara’s mind. Her confusion. Faith’s confusion.

This was crazy, and it had to stop. _“Sweetie, where are you?”_ Tara thought she knew. There were very few places in town high enough to offer hope for the suicidal. She needed to be sure, though, before taking Monica up on her offer to drive aimlessly through town.

When Faith didn’t respond, Tara shook her head. Nothing was ever going to be easy with Faith. And that was fine. She’d simply have to be more specific _“Tell me where you are, Faith,”_ Tara said with a little more bite than before.

_“The apartment, Tara.”_ Faith’s answer was immediate, and Tara flushed at the _feel_ of Faith’s submission.

_“Thank you, Faith. I’ll be right there.”_ Returning her focus to Monica and Drew, she said, “There’s an apartment building at 920 Aegeon.”

Drew stole the keys from Monica. “I know where it is. A friend lives there. I’ll have you there in no time, Ma’am.”

***

Tara disappeared from Faith’s mind. Or…not disappeared. Faith could still hear and feel Tara. It was like she’d covered all her thoughts and emotions with a bucket, though.

And that left Faith all alone in her head. Alone with no explanation for what had just happened. No explanation for the connection she now shared with Tara.

What the Hell was going on? The ringing in Faith’s ears from Tara’s initial command hadn’t diminished. Even though her knife was only a few feet away – where she’d thrown it under the thrall of Tara’s order, Faith didn’t go for it. She didn’t run for the edge of the roof, either.

It was stupid. Faith had never followed orders. She laughed at them. Ignored them.

She couldn’t ignore Tara. Tara was somehow all around her, inside her. Faith wrestled with the Tara presence. Nothing in her life had changed (the little Tara voice in her head begged to differ). The Mayor was waiting for Faith to deliver the box. The Council still thought she was working for the Mayor. To top it off, she’d been about to kill a man (again, the little voice protested that fact) when Buffy had showed up to save him.

“Faith?” Buffy’s hesitant question was icing on the cake. “Is…are you…” Perfect. Buffy was now channeling Willow. Faith’s crappy night was complete.

Faith ignored the incomplete question. At first. Then she looked up from her intense examination of the rooftop. “Is…are you…” she mocked. “Musta hit your head when I knocked you on your ass. You still seein’ stars? Or can I finish the deed? Didn’t want you to tell the Scoobs I beat ya’ ‘cause I kicked ya’ while you were down.”

The words were a direct hit. Buffy stepped forward – and then stopped. “Newsflash, Faith. You don’t have a weapon. You threw it away. Right before you dropped to your knees.”

Dropped to her knees. Faith raged internally at the comment. At the image it presented. Fuck, at the image _she_ presented. Because she hadn’t moved. She was still on her knees like she was bowing down to Buffy.

Only Faith hadn’t knelt for Buffy. Faith had knelt at Tara’s command. Not for an afternoon. Not like the last time in her apartment.

_”I haven’t grown a second head,”_ Tara commented. The mental words carried a hint of her familiar half-smile. _“And I didn’t dye my hair orange. I’m still just me, sweetie. Just like in your apartment.”_

Faith ducked her head, trying to shut out the voice. She wasn’t bonded to Tara. Tara was bonded to someone smart and beautiful. She’d said so at the doughnut shop.

Laughter bubbled into her mind. _“Exactly. Beautiful and smart. You. Now tell Buffy to stop picking on you. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Drew’s broken every land-speed record. Monica hasn’t stopped insulting his driving since we got on the road.”_

“Tara says to leave me alone.” The words were out before Faith was consciously aware of following another of Tara’s orders.

“Tara!” Buffy obviously didn’t believe Faith. “Get up, Faith. Whatever’s going on, we’ve got a date with the Council. There’s no way we didn’t make the news again, not with the trail of destruction we left downtown.” Her voice lowered to a mumble. “If there was a way to get you out of town…”

Faith raised her head. “Wouldn’t matter.” She noticed Buffy’s grim expression. “You knew that, huh?”

Jaw tightening, Buffy glanced away. “We really need to go. Home, not the House. Then Giles and I can find a way to make this right with Travers and his puppet Wes.”

“You ain’t givin’ me to Wes?” Faith didn’t understand. Buffy had been all over her at the airport. Had chased her through downtown and beaten her at every turn until Faith had gotten in a lucky shot.

“Took you long enough to figure that out.” Buffy stalked across the roof and picked up Faith’s knife. “Am I going to have to carry you? Get up.”

There had been so many times in the last few months where Buffy had pulled her Dominant crap. Every other time, Buffy had been able to make her command stick. Sometimes with little more than the sheer force of her Dominance. Sometimes with the weight of her boot on Faith’s throat. Tonight, kneeling helplessly on the roof, Faith felt only a tiny tug to obey. “Sorry, B. No can do. The witch said I gotta stay here.” Obeying Tara rankled, but the Presence in Faith’s mind made obedience the only option. Giving Buffy the mental finger barely made up for obedience.

“You don’t understand.” Buffy gripped Faith’s shoulder and heaved her to her feet. “We have to get you home. Wes is…he’s waiting…I have to call him. But not until you’re safe at home.”

Emotions raced through Faith, none of them staying long enough for her to pin them down and identify them. Her head reeled. Her heart raced. None of that mattered. She was up. The pressure of Tara’s command slipped away with the change in position. Buffy and her knife were close enough to touch. Maybe _this_ time, Buffy would…

_“I’m sorry. Did I say you could stand up?”_ Even though Tara’s voice was only in Faith’s head, it was easy to imagine the flash of her eyes and the wintery-blue color they turned when Tara got her Domme on.

Faith gritted her teeth as her knees tried to fold again. Damn it all! She _wasn’t bonded to Tara._ And this was the best shot she had of getting out of the mess she’d made of her life. Lunging forward, Faith managed to topple Buffy to the ground. The knife waved dangerously between them – which was just fine with Faith.

“Guess you can call Wes from the apartment, B. Soon as ya’ finish me off.” Faith caught the way Buffy’s eyes widened a second before she dived onto Buffy’s prone form.

She’d been aiming for the knife. Right on the tip.

Somehow Buffy fucked up her plan again. Buffy grunted as Faith squished her against the roof, the knife clattering to the concrete next to them.

“Are…you…crazy?” Buffy wheezed.

Probably. Faith didn’t answer Buffy’s question, though. She was running out of time. Somehow, she knew Tara was nearly at the apartment. She knew Tara was _not_ happy with her recent actions. And Faith had no doubt Tara would end any chance Faith had to finish this fight the right way. Reaching out, she snatched the dagger off the ground and raised it high over her head. Buffy was pinned beneath her. She had a clear shot at Buffy’s throat and her heart.

But Faith remembered sparring with Buffy. Remembered having her in exactly this position on the floor of the House gym. Remembered how her sure-fire victory had turned to humiliating defeat as Buffy reversed their positions with a move Faith still didn’t understand.

The dagger was heavy in Faith’s hand. Buffy wasn’t winning this time. Her muscles tightened and she brought the knife down…

_“ **Stop!** ”_ The mental shout filled Faith’s head and froze her arm in place.

Faith fought the compulsion. The _need_ inside to obey, to please the voice. To please Tara. Light from the apartment flashed off the blade as it trembled in Faith’s grasp. Tires screeched from the street below. Car doors opened and slammed shut. Footsteps pounded on the sidewalk. And all Faith could do was stare down at Buffy and grip the hilt of the dagger.

She’d failed at so many things in her life. What was one more? Dropping the dagger, Faith climbed numbly to her feet and walked to the edge of the roof. It was dark below; the alley on the back of the building wasn’t lighted. She’d never have to see the ground on the way down.

“Please don’t.” Tara’s soft plea did more than any angry shout. Spinning slowly, Faith saw Tara standing in the middle of the roof. Her shirt was torn, blood dotting the thin cotton, and her face was taut with strain. “S-sweetie, please.”

Were those tears in Tara’s eyes? Faith unconsciously moved a step closer, insides coiling. As soon as she realized she’d taken a step, Faith stopped. “Get out of my head!” she snapped. This was all Tara’s fault. Tara had ruined all her plans.

Tara flinched.

Good. Faith wasn’t giving in to the bond. She wasn’t giving in to Tara. Tara needed to go away.

“I’m not going away, Faith,” Tara said as if she’d read Faith’s mind. “And I _am_ reading your mind. It’s not hard to do when you’re thoughts are so loud.” Advancing on Faith’s position, Tara’s shoulders squared. Her voice firmed yet grew softer. Faith didn’t understand how Tara did that. Or why she automatically obeyed when Tara said, “Come here, sweetie,” and held out her hand.

It was the hand that did it. The outstretched hand pulled at Faith.

She strode across the roof and stood inches from Tara. She might have made the trip; that didn’t mean she was happy about it. Crossing her arms over her chest, Faith glowered at Tara. What now? Was she supposed to kneel? Kiss Tara’s boots?

Tara’s lips quivered; her eyes twinkled. Damned if her voice didn’t shake with suppressed laughter. “I’m not wearing boots, sweetie.” One foot slid out from beneath the hem of her long skirt, displaying a battered sandal. “I didn’t have time to fight with boot laces.”

It wasn’t funny. Faith stiffened and employed the Slayer Stare.

By all rights, Tara should have screamed and run for safety. Instead, she sighed and reached out. Her fingers traced Faith’s left cheekbone and ghosted over Faith’s swollen eye. Faith shivered at the caresses. “Did Buffy do this? Did Buffy hurt you like this?” Tara’s laughter was gone, replaced with a deadly intensity.

“Yes, Tara,” Faith mumbled at the same time Buffy snorted.

“She’s a Slayer, Tara. She’ll heal.” Buffy wasn’t impressed with Tara’s glare. Faith wondered why not? Tara’s eyes were laser hot. “When Kendra and I got to the airport, she was about to kill some guy.”

Faith bit back her immediate disagreement. She hadn’t been about to kill the courier. She’d been biding her time, waiting for Buffy. So what if Faith’s bow had been drawn and the arrow nocked on the string?

“If you’re done oohing and aahing over her bruises, Faith has to come home with me. The Council’s on the hunt for Faith. I’m sure Kendra’s told Wes about what we saw at the airport; he’s had a Retrieval Team on standby. She’ll be safe with Mom and Xander while we get this settled.” Buffy walked over and grabbed Faith by the arm. “Giles is calling in every favor he’s got left to keep this from getting permanent.”

Being grabbed wasn’t new. Buffy had grabbed Faith plenty in the past. This time didn’t happen like all the others. As Buffy dragged Faith back toward the apartment, Tara somehow managed to intercept them. “Let her go. Now.”

Faith had always thought Buffy was scary in Dominant mode. Tara transcended that. Buffy must have thought so, too, because her hand fell away from Faith’s arm.

“Thank you, Buffy.” If the world was about to end, Faith figured Tara would still be polite.

Another woman and man stepped out of the deep shadows under the apartment window. “I called Trish. She and Maxie are staying at my place tonight. We can give you a ride back.” Her eyes examined Faith’s injuries. “Or drop you at the emergency room.”

“No hospitals,” Faith said. She’d be a sitting duck for the Retrieval Team there. And the woman’s other option was no better. Tara didn’t know about the Mayor, about what he might do. Faith wasn’t putting Tara and the townies at risk. “I’ve gotta go.” Maybe if she went to the Mayor while the bruises were fresh, Faith could convince him she’d failed to kill the courier and get the box because Buffy had beaten her in a fight. Buffy was right; they’d probably made the news. The story might work.

“It’ll be alright, Faith. I promise.” Tara’s hand was in the air between them again. It beckoned. “Just for tonight. Then we can talk about what to do in the morning.”

That hand. Faith wanted to take it. Wanted to feel Tara’s fingers curl around her own.

“No. I ain’t goin’ home with you.” Faith’s refusal lacked certainty and assurance. In fact, it sounded depressingly like a question.

“Just for tonight, my Slayer.” Tara’s hand never wavered.

Faith’s resistance crumbled. She reached for Tara’s hand, a soft sigh escaping when those fingers _did_ curl around hers. “Tonight, Tara.”


	40. Chapter 40

Thirty seconds later, Faith changed her mind. Her footsteps slowed – and everyone on the roof noticed.

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” Buffy announced. “And she can’t stay here. That means, she goes with me. Come on, Faith. We’ll…” The words turned into a sharp inhale when Tara spun to face her.

There was a reason for that. Faith didn’t know whether to laugh or whimper when Tara squared off with Buffy. Laughter should have won out. Slayer trumped witch, right? The sharp sting of power running up Faith’s arm from Tara said otherwise. Faith had seen enough magic since coming to Sunnydale to know how close Buffy was to getting fried.

Tara’s solid blue irises were a pretty good clue, too. “Was I not clear the first time?” The question was so quiet. So casual. So terrifying.

Faith automatically ducked her head and inched closer to Tara. Shy witch? More like a magical Ice Queen.  Buffy could stay in the line of fire. Faith wasn’t that stupid.

_“I keep telling you that you’re smart. Are you finally ready to believe me?”_ All the icy aggression Tara showed Buffy was absent from her warm, amused mental voice. “Faith agreed to go with me. Do I need to prove I can protect her?”

There was a second where Faith thought she might see Buffy get what she deserved. Then the moment passed. “Call me if you need anything.” Tucking Faith’s dagger into her belt, Buffy headed for the fire escape ladder. “I’ll do what I can to keep Wes out of your hair, but it won’t be long. He isn’t going to be happy when tell him…when I come back empty handed.”

What was that about? Faith frowned at Buffy’s verbal two-step and started to pull away from Tara.

Tara’s fingers tightened in warning. _“Not now, sweetie. Wes is Buffy’s problem. And mine, if he’s really dumb enough to come after you.”_ Faith got the sense Tara wouldn’t be terribly upset if Wes _did_ try to steal Faith. Tara was definitely all up in her Dominance. “If Wes has any questions, refer him to me, Buffy.”

“I might just do that.” With a tiny grin, Buffy hopped onto the ladder and was soon out of sight.

“I’m not athletic enough for the ladder.” Tara grumbled and pulled Faith toward the broken window into the apartment.  “Why isn’t there anything to stand on out here? Getting out here wasn’t so bad. I had your sorry excuse of a kitchen table…”  She gave Faith a glare (ruined by a well-timed wink). “If you’re going to make me shimmy through broken windows, you better follow through on your promise to get me into shape.”

Faith grinned without meaning to.  Tara was a hoot. “I never promised ya’ nothing.”

“Of course you did. I distinctly remember you telling me about your wonderful workout program.” They paused at the window. It was only a few feet from the floor of the roof to the lip of the sill. The guy who’d come with Tara boosted his bondmate up and she clambered easily back into the apartment. He followed quickly. “I knew I didn’t much like Monica,” Tara mumbled. Her hands dropped to her hips, and Faith wondered if Tara was about to blast a hole in the wall.

“Ya’ want to know what workin’ out can do for you?” Faith grabbed Tara around the waist and lifted her up to the window. The guy inside reached out and they got Tara into the apartment with a few grunts and curses. Ignoring her own aching ribs and bruises, Faith then hauled herself back inside.

She should have stayed on the roof or followed Buffy down the side of the building. Her apartment was a mess. Faith had known that. Hell, she’d helped create the destruction. It didn’t help with the ache in her gut. The apartment had been hers. The first real home she’d ever had. Averting her eyes from the tattered couch and the kitchen table leaning against the wall, Faith followed Tara and company to the elevator.

_If you can help me get as strong as you, sweetie, I don’t think I have to worry about the Sunnydale nightlife anymore._ Tara kept her distance in the elevator, but Faith felt her anyway through the bond. Despite the teasing mental comment, Tara was worried. Worried about _her._

The feeling, the _bond_ , wouldn’t go away. Tara stood firmly in the back of Faith’s mind. It was fantastic and amazing – and it suffocated Faith. Her muscles twitched with a need to run. To push out of the elevator and flee.

Almost immediately, the Tara presence in her head backed off. The feeling became muted somehow. Still there yet not so overwhelming.

A little of the constriction in Faith’s chest eased. Her nerves stopped jangling. When the elevator doors slid open at the ground floor, Faith didn’t sprint for freedom. She managed to follow Tara to a late-model hatchback parked halfway on the curb.

“Give me the keys, princess,” Tara’s female companion demanded. She snapped her fingers at the man in a way that made Faith’s teeth grind together. “I can’t trust you to stay on the road. It’s a wonder we’re not in jail after your display on the way here.”

Her submissive – who else would take that kind of verbal abuse? – nearly groveled as he handed over the keys. “Yes, Mistress.” Head and eyes down, he scuttled to the rear passenger door and held it open for Tara.

“Thank you, Drew,” Tara said softly. She smiled at Drew and then waited.

Tara was always so nice and polite. Way better than Drew’s Dominant. Faith gave the guy a pitying look.

“Sweetie, can you get in the car?” Tara’s eyes were wide, the blue irises dark with concern. The color warmed Faith. Urged her forward. And that’s when Faith realized they were waiting on _her._

Faith fought the impulse to immediately move. If she got in the car, what happened next? She’d be with Tara. Tara would expect her to submit. To let her do…

“Stop thinking so much and get in the car, my Slayer.” A smile lightened Tara’s expression. “Willow has nothing on you. I can actually _hear_ you thinking. It’s just a car. We’re just heading to Trish’s for the night.” She met Faith’s gaze, and her soft voice firmed. “And I promise, there are no strings tonight, sweetie.” _No strings, cuffs, or jump ropes. We need to look at what Buffy did to you and then you need to rest, Faith. That’s all._

“I like jump ropes.” Faith loved Tara’s laughter. It was so open and free. It made Faith’s chest feel funny. So did Tara’s indrawn breath in response to her comment. Suddenly, the blue in Tara’s eyes was far hotter than Faith had thought before. Feeling hot, too, Faith climbed into the car.

***

The trip across Sunnydale was…uncomfortable. Faith leaned against the door. The space between her and Tara was both not enough and too much. Her hand felt cold now that Tara wasn’t holding it. But her head (not the little Tara voice in the bond) celebrated the separation. Tara’s touch confused Faith. It muddied her thinking.

She should never have agreed to get in the car. With Buffy out of the way, believing Faith was safe with Tara, it might have been possible to get clear of Sunnydale. The Mayor was too busy with whatever he was doing to hunt her outside of town, especially now that his box hadn’t been delivered.

Reality warred with the perfect world in Faith’s mind. Reality won, and she closed her eyes. Not only would the Mayor come after her, Buffy would, too. She knew that. That’s why the fight with Buffy had been so important.

_“You’re thinking again. Doesn’t your head hurt when you do too much of that?”_ When Faith glanced at Tara, Tara appeared to be sleeping. Her eyes were closed and her head rested against the seatback. It was all an act, though. Tara was clearly awake and talking to Faith through the bond. _“Sweetie, I don’t know what you believe you’ve done; it isn’t so horrible that we can’t fix it.”_ The reassurance was replaced with cold determination. _“If the Mayor and Buffy don’t agree, I’ll be happy to explain it to them.”_

What the Hell had happened to shy Tara? Faith’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

That’s when Tara giggled. The mental sound tickled, and Faith fought off a smile in response. This was no laughing matter. _“I ain’t bonded with you.”_ Talking to Tara through the bond was weird. A little like a daydream with more purpose. She had to concentrate on forming the words, on pushing them toward the tiny Tara image in her head.

_“Really? Then how are we having this conversation?”_ Tara’s mental voice was mildly curious. _“Can you do this with other people? Buffy? Willow?”_

“Stop making fucking jokes!” Faith broke the unspoken rule and snarled out loud. The car jerked toward the curb as Tara’s friend jumped in surprise. Faith glared at her through the reflection in the rearview mirror. “You got a problem? Keep your fuckin’ eyes on the road. Got enough problems without adding a fender bender to the deal.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed. “She’s got a mouth. You’ll need to deal with that, Tara.” Faith figured the other woman didn’t expect Tara to really do that. Monica, though, seemed ready to pull the car over and teach Faith a lesson.

“ _Faith_ has had a very rough night, Monica. And her mouth is just fine.” It was strange to hear the same resolve out loud and not just in her head, Faith decided. Tara glanced at her, mouth quirking in a smile. “And she has a point. Your driving is as bad as Drew’s.”

“I think I liked you better when you blushed and stuttered,” Monica mumbled until Drew inched across the front seat and curled up against her. Then she purred and pinched his nipple. Faith winced as he hissed in pain. “Next time you wake up with a bloody nose and wild eyes, I’m leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Tara’s smile widened. “No, you won’t,” she said.

Monica was a raving bitch. Faith didn’t like her scowl or the way she made fun of Tara when she responded. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it would have been fun to give you the keys and watch you drive aimlessly all over town. You’d have taken out every trash can and parked car in Sunnydale. If I remember…you couldn’t even stand up without swaying.”

What? “You drinkin’, T?” Faith turned on the seat and crossed her arms. “You don’t look like a boozer.” But now that she was checking Tara out, Tara’s eyes _were_ bloodshot. The tiny lines at the corners of Tara’s eyes were tight with pain, too. Hangover?

“Yes, Faith.” Tara rolled her eyes. “I had such a hard day, I had a few too many.” She turned her attention to Monica. “Thank you. Thank you so much for giving Faith the impression I was too drunk to stand up. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find a way to get even.”

“I’m terrified.” Monica slowed for a stop sign and then turned into a neighborhood near the university. “Good thing I have Drew. I’ll make sure he’s between me and you at all times.” Her mock shiver was badly overdone, and Faith’s lip curled in distaste. She _really_ didn’t like this woman.

_“I thought the same thing the first time I met her. But she isn’t as bad as you think. Stop glaring at the back of her head.”_  Tara reached across the seat and poked Faith’s arm. Hard. “Just like you to throw poor Drew under the bus. It’s terrible the way you treat him.”

“Terrible.” Monica agreed and pinched Drew’s nipple again. “My little pain slut enjoys it.”

From Drew’s muffled groan and the way he was now nearly in Monica’s lap…

_“Little slut.” The john tightened the clamp on Faith’s nipple until she couldn’t hold back a scream. It hurt; it hurt; it hurt._

_Her stomach heaved and the room spun crazily._

_“Don’t you dare puke, you bitch. You do, and I’ll make you wish you were dead.” The second clamp closed on Faith’s other nipple._

_The john was too late. Faith **already** prayed for death. His. Hers. It didn’t matter. _

The car stopped and Faith pulled out of the memory. “Sweetie?” Tara had slid across the seat and was in her personal space, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Faith snapped. Damn her fucked up memories and damn Tara and her fucking bond. She shoved Tara away. Stony silence rolled into the car from the front seat. Faith didn’t give a shit what Monica thought. She didn’t care what _any_ of them thought. Except, her chest hurt. And damned if her eyes didn’t fill with tears.

Faith didn’t cry. _Ever_.

The tears disappeared and the overwhelming sadness shut off like someone had flicked a switch. “I’m s-sorry, Faith. I d-didn’t…I only want-ted…” Tara dropped her head, hiding behind her hair. Not before Faith glimpsed the tears in her eyes.

The feelings. Had they been _Tara’s_?

“Let’s get you inside so we can take care of you.” Tara hopped out of her side of the car before Faith could do more than gape at her.

Faith had felt Tara’s emotions. Through the bond. Her comment had made Tara cry. The world tried to turn upside down. Faith grappled with the concept, and the ball of shame that fastened around her heart.

She felt even worse when Tara opened the door next to her and held out a hand. “Please come inside, sweetie.” Tara acted like nothing had happened. Like Faith hadn’t punched her in the stomach with her mean words. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Still uncomfortable with her previous actions, Faith took Tara’s hand. Things improved slightly when Tara squeezed her fingers and gave a forced smile. “Monica, we’ll need a bag of ice and I think Trish keeps a first aid kit in the bathroom.” Tara’s orders were always soft. Never angry or abrupt. It was enough to send Monica and Drew hurrying into the house like minions.

“Ya’ know I’m OK, right?” Faith wiggled Tara’s hand. “Slayer healing’ll take care of everything. All the ice and shit…”

“Faith.”

Responding instinctively, Faith stopped talking and focused on Tara.

A blindingly happy smile and gentle fingers stroking her face rewarded her obedience. “Buffy hurt you. I don’t want you to hurt, my Faith. Come inside, please.” Tara giggled. “If we don’t hurry, Monica’s going to remember she’s a grumpy bitch and she’ll probably put the ice in my underwear drawer.”

Faith laughed, too, despite the way it made her ribs hurt. “She does that, I’ll turn her boy toy into a human pretzel.” She followed Tara into the house.

Drew and another submissive waited with a collection of small garbage bags filled with ice. Of course Monica couldn’t get the ice herself. She’d probably sat on the couch while the submissives did the hard work. Tara would have gotten the ice herself. Faith knew it. Tara didn’t think submissives were servants. “Lady Trish and Mistress are looking for the first aid kit, Ma’am.”

_“Be nice, sweetie.”_ Suiting actions to words, Tara took one of the bags from Drew with her free hand. “Thank you, Drew. Faith, please sit down on the couch.” An eyebrow rose imperiously when Faith hesitated.

Damn it. Faith hated that particular expression. Not enough to refuse the request, though. She dropped onto the couch. The ice bags weren’t a necessity, but they felt divine. Faith relaxed into the pain-killing cold. The unknown woman even held a bag to her swollen eye.

Tara used the first aid kit Monica and - what had Drew called her? Lady Trish - delivered to dress various cuts. There were a lot of them.

_“Damn it, Faith! Stop fighting.” Buffy ducked a punch – and then landed one of her own. Not full strength. A Slayer love tap that drove Faith back a step, right through the display window of Decker Hardware. Buffy followed in a more controlled fashion. “I don’t want to fight, Faith.”_

_Really? Faith’s busted lip and aching ribs begged to differ. Not to mention that Faith didn’t care what Buffy wanted. They were going to fight. She’d keep pushing Buffy’s buttons to make sure of that._

New, sharp pain snapped her back to the present. “Did I hurt you?” Tara had frozen, needle and surgical thread in hand. A needle she’d jabbed through the large cut on Faith’s arm from when Buffy had dragged Faith off of the chain link fence back at the airport.

“Whatever, T. Done worse shaving my legs.” Faith closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as Tara resumed stitching the cut. Each new insertion of the needle _hurt._ The drag of the thread somehow burned despite Tara’s gentle touch and the care Faith picked up through the bond. She caged the whimpers and curses because Tara was already beating herself up over the pain she caused.

Finally, it was over. “All done, sweetie.” Tara’s voice shook.

Prying her eyes open, Faith peered at the amazingly tight, straight stitches. “You a doctor or somethin’, T?” There might not even be a scar.

“I’ve had s-some pr-practice with stitches,” Tara murmured. “Do you think you can walk into the bedroom? You need to take some pain killer and Drew will get some fresh ice.”

Bedroom. Faith stiffened – and Tara noticed, damn her. “I can…”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Tara interrupted. One of the room’s other occupants snorted at that. Tara never even looked in their direction. She simply got up, not meeting Faith’s eyes. “It’s just down the hallway.” With slow, careful movements, she settled Faith’s arm over her shoulder and helped Faith down the hall.

The contact reopened the bond. Or pulled back the curtain Tara had pulled over it. Faith didn’t understand how it worked. All she cared about was the way emotions _which were not hers_ slammed into her brain. Worry. Tara was still worried. Fucking girl would end up with an ulcer if she kept freaking out like she was now. Fear. Faith frowned. What did Tara have to be afraid of?

Tara hadn’t exaggerated. The bedroom was just down the short hallway. Faith didn’t have time to figure out Tara’s emotions before they stopped in front of a partially-open door. “Here you go, sweetie.” Tara stepped back, and the flood of emotions returned to a trickle. “You’ll…you’ll c-call if you need anyth-thing, right?”

“Sure.” Faith lied because Tara’s serious blue eyes wouldn’t let her lash out. She didn’t need anyone’s help, especially Tara’s. But she couldn’t say that.  “Be more than happy to let you grab water or Band-Aids for me,” she mumbled.

When Tara’s eyes dropped away and her lips quivered, Faith figured her lie hadn’t been convincing enough. She knew Tara didn’t believe her when Tara nearly whispered, “Good night, Faith.” She sounded so tired and defeated. Of course she was. Fate was a blind, cruel bitch who’d just bonded Tara with the worst possible match on the planet.

Faith limped into the room and started to close the door.

“Faith.” The word brought Faith up short. She froze and glanced back into the hallway. Tara was still there. She’d straightened, all of her confidence back and draped around her like a cloak.

The sight sent shivers racing up and down Faith’s spine. “Yes, Tara?” The tingles turned into warm waves of anticipation as Tara moved closer. Her blue eyes were dark. Fuck, Tara was hot like that. Faith swallowed with a suddenly-dry throat.

“You’ll call me if you need…” The words tapered off.

Oh, yeah. Faith definitely _needed_. She suspected Tara did, too. No. Wait. She _knew_ Tara needed. She could feel in her head, in the bond. Desire burned clearly, and Faith traced it all the way back. Tara’s desire threatened to burn her up and leave her writhing in pleasure. Unconsciously leaning toward Tara, Faith licked her lips.

She wanted to feel Tara’s lips on hers. That hard, bruising, possessive kiss like the one they’d shared at the doughnut shop.

For a split second, Faith thought she’d get her wish. Tara was so close now. So close Faith smelled a hint of Tara’s shampoo and soap. Tara’s lips hovered near Faith’s.

Then Tara stepped sharply away. Faith felt the effort it took for Tara to do that. She sensed Tara’s determination and focus grow. She heard it in Tara’s cool, commanding voice. “Go to sleep, my Slayer. Call if you need anything.”


	41. Chapter 41

Tara walked away. Every instinct screamed that she was crazy. Even a tiny Faith voice mumbled her disbelief in Tara’s head. Tara ignored _all_ the little voices. She listened to what was right, rather than what those voices wanted. Faith was hurt. She was the victim of possible abuse. She needed to know Tara wanted more from her than sex. Tara wanted Faith healthy and whole. Tara wanted more than Faith’s body. She wanted her heart and soul.

And that meant holding firm and walking back into the living room to face an audience. Tara faced the gauntlet of curiosity, taking a seat in the recliner.

“Do you want us to stay, Tar?” Trish asked softly. That was it. She didn’t push, which was completely unlike her. She asked and then she waited. It turned a simple question into a battering ram that crashed through Tara’s already-shaken composure.

“Yes.” Tara bowed her head until her forehead rested on her upraised knees. “But you can’t stay. Faith and I have to work this out alone.” Although, she had no illusions that there was a quick fix – or even a fix at all. Closing her eyes, she scanned the bond with a light mental touch. Faith was still awake. In pain. Alone.

Tara ached to go to her. Goddess, this entire situation kept getting worse and worse.

Fingers brushed lightly through Tara’s hair. “It’s never as bad as it seems.” Monica, not Trish, offered the caress and the advice. “We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk. I work too much, and I know I don’t fit into the dynamic you want.” Her smile, when Tara glanced up, was wry and understanding. “Brian’s more your style. We’re more alike than either of us may be comfortable with, though.”

Monica snapped her fingers and Drew crawled over from his place near the couch. As he crouched at Monica’s feet, she twined her fingers in his hair, pulling until Drew raised his chin to take the pressure off his scalp. “We’re only a phone call away if you need us. I left my home and work numbers by the phone.” Turning her attention to Drew, Monica pulled him up, ignoring his wince and the way he twisted against her hold. “Stop squirming, princess, or we’ll visit the dungeon before I lock you in your cage for the night.”

_The cage door slammed closed. It was so small Tara’s mother couldn’t turn around or even kneel up. Looming over the metal structure, her father jabbed a cattle prod through the crosspieces. A second later, her mother reared up in time with the zap of the prod firing._

_“You’re next, bitch.” Donny grabbed Tara’s arms and propelled her forward. “Did you think Pa didn’t know you were doing magic? You think we’re stupid, don’t you?”_

“Did you order that new cage from the catalog?” Maxie’s voice was loud and cheerful, in contrast to the demons in Tara’s memory. “Is it as nice as it looked in the pictures?” she asked as she followed Monica and Drew toward the door.

Tara didn’t hear Monica’s reply before the door closed behind them, leaving her alone in the house with Faith – and Trish. “We don’t have to go,” Trish offered. She hovered in the middle of the living room. “You don’t look good, Tar.”

No, probably not. “I’ll be fine.” Reluctant amusement filled Tara. It was a true statement; one she needed to remember. “Really, Trish.” Monica tapped the horn from the driveway, the blast of sound shocking in the otherwise quiet house. “Go on, before Monica decides to lock you in Drew’s c-cage as punishment.”

“She’s welcome to try.” Trish crossed her arms over her chest and scowled ferociously.

“It might be interesting to watch,” Tara told her. “Another night.” Meeting Trish’s determined stare, Tara said, “Go on. I’m fine. Tired, stressed, confused – and fine. I’m going to grab one of those big, boring books you and Maxie cleaned off the floor and read until I fall asleep.”

Trish wasn’t playing along. “You need…”

“Go.” Tara wasn’t giving an inch. Having Trish here would be awesome; yet it would accomplish nothing. Tara finally had a completed bond. She had Faith in her bedroom down the hall. Unfortunately, she still had no solutions to their problems, and she wouldn’t until she and Faith were able to talk and work through their mountain of issues.

“Bossy Dominant.” Trish shook her head and then sighed. “Like Monica said, call if you need anything.” She stalked across the living room, gripping Tara’s chin the way she normally did Maxie’s. “I’ll turn you over my knee faster than you can say ‘oh, shit,’ if you try to be Super Domme on your own.”

Tara chuckled. Trish was too cute. “Yes, Ma’am,” she murmured obediently.

“If you were mine…” Kissing Tara’s cheek, Trish stepped back and started for the door. “You’d spend all your time in the corner for being a brat.”

When the front door closed a second time, Tara was truly alone with Faith. She closed her eyes and felt through the link. Faith was awake – and waiting for Tara at the end of the conduit. Not because she wanted to, but because the bond didn’t give Faith a choice. Tara immediately withdrew. The last hour hadn’t changed Faith’s opinion on their bond or of Tara’s ability to read her mind. Now wasn’t the time for Tara to push Faith’s limits.

Instead, Tara got off the couch. The books she’d brought home from the House were neatly stacked beneath an end table. If she couldn’t push Faith’s limits, she’d push her own. No matter what else happened between her and Faith, the Mayor was the bigger threat.

The Mayor.

Cursing her stupidity, Tara set the book she’d retrieved down. The Mayor would certainly come for Faith. And, as Buffy had indicated earlier, Wes might be right behind him on the “hunting Faith” train.

Regardless of who reached Trish’s house first, they were in for a rude surprise. Tara strode into the kitchen and grabbed a salt shaker before shoving the living room furniture away from the center of the room. This was big Magick. She needed space and a very secure Circle. Casting the magical protection was getting easier thanks to Tara’s practice at the House. She sprinkled the salt in a large circle around the room. Once the physical circle was complete, she emptied her mind and visualized what she needed to accomplish.

The magical Circle first. It was harder here than at the House. There was no tingle of latent magic in the very foundations of Trish’s house. It didn’t matter. She had to keep Faith safe. Salt and the frighteningly-low level of energy in her personal reservoir would have to do. Tara held her hands at waist level, palms toward the ceiling. “Guardians of the Light, welcome to the Circle.” With slow, deliberate movements, Tara raised her arms in an open-ended hug. “Guardian of the North,” she faced north, “Keeper of the earth, protect this Circle from evil.” Tara turned clockwise, walked a few feet to an imaginary point a quarter way around the circle and faced east. “Guardian of the East, Keeper of the air, protect this Circle from evil.”

Each invocation drained power. Tara was shaking as she shoved dregs of magic through her channels and into the partially-completed Circle. The sand in the arc between North and East had fused. Bright white light glowed from the floor. That light would keep her safe. Would allow her to keep Faith safe.

As always, thoughts of Faith drove Tara past her limits. She moved again and faced south. “Guardian of the South, Keeper of eternal flame, protect this Circle from evil.” Another turn to the right. Another few steps. Now Tara had to concentrate on not rushing. The end was in sight and she had to do this the proper way. “Guardian of the West, Keeper of the water, protect this Circle from evil.”

The room throbbed with power. Tara could see the glow from the Circle. It followed her, a white ribbon of magic, as she completed one final walk and faced north again. “Earth, Air, Fire, Water, be welcome in this Circle.” Closing her “hug,” Tara completed the spell. The last section of salt burned white and joined the arc she’d started when she’d begun the invocation.

With a soft sigh, Tara sank to her knees. Goddess, she was tired, and the hard part hadn’t even begun. Sweat chilled on her skin. Exhaustion held her in place.  Luckily, Tara didn’t have to do the rest of the warding on her own. Mentally reaching through Circle, Tara traced the pull of power to the nearest ley line, a mystical stream of power flowing along one end of Sunnydale. With ephemeral hands, she touched the ley line and diverted it. Power poured into the Circle, the barrier purifying the magic. The untamed energy brought Tara back to her feet.

Using slow stroking motions of her hands, Tara “painted” the external walls and the ceiling of the living room with the borrowed magic. Safe in the Circle, infused with the power of the ley line, Tara mentally moved through the house and coated any surface that might provide entry into the house. She repeated the process twice more and then returned to the ley line to drink from the stream. Magic rippled through her channels. Power pooled in her reservoir. Tara continued until she’d replaced everything she’d used before cutting off contact with the ley line.

The only thing left was to banish the Circle. Tara faced the glowing barrier and waved a hand. “Guardians of the Light, thank you for joining this Circle. Go in peace and know you are always welcome here.” One by one, the separate arcs between the directional posts winked out.

Not bad. Not bad at all. Tara went back to the stack of books and picked up the one on top. It was time to find some answers.

***

Faith couldn’t sleep. She hurt too badly, even after the ice and pain killers. And she was too confused.

She was bonded to Tara. Tara, with her quirky smile and bright blue eyes. The same Tara who’d tied Faith up in the apartment and proceeded to push Faith all the way into subspace with nothing more than a few gentle touches and some kitchen utensils.

The same Tara who had some Serious Mojo if the electricity buzzing along Faith’s senses meant anything. She’d heard Tara chanting right before her body lit up and turned into one big, aching Early Warning System of Power. Unlike the dull cramp of vampires or the slick, slimy feeling of a regular demon, Faith’s senses seemed to welcome Tara and whatever she was playing with.

The power in the house built. Faith shook like a junkie searching desperately for a fix. The bed rattled as the power threatened to blow her apart. Then, just like that, the flood eased. It changed. From wild rollercoaster ride to warm electric blanket. Faith’s eyes slid closed and she sighed. The aches and pains slowly faded.

God, the bed was comfortable. Stretching out on her side, Faith pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Comfortable and warm and it smelled like Tara.

_“Hey! Did you hear?” Niketa, one of the other Slayers stationed at the Boston Headquarters, ran into the room waving her arm around. Faith slumped farther down on the couch in the Romper Room (stupid name for a big ass living room) and tried to tune out all the babble. “He’s here. I found him, Tonya.”_

_There was a collective whoop from the four other Juniors._

_“What’s he like? Is he handsome? Did he make you want to drop to your knees the minute you saw him?” Faith rolled her eyes at Susan’s question. “Will we get to meet him?”_

_“Matt’s…he’s…” Niketa’s voice was hushed, like she was in a fucking church. Faith thought about leaving. She would have if her ankle wasn’t the size of a basketball from the fall she’d taken on the obstacle course earlier. “I didn’t even notice what he looked like. It’s what Matt **felt** like. Like he wrapped me in this warm, fuzzy blanket and I’d never be alone again.”_

All the Fate and bonding crap was a lie. Faith had never believed in it. Except Faith was all wrapped in a blanket – not just the one on the bed. There was a warm, fuzzy blanket in her mind, too, just the way Niketa had described back in Boston.

What would it be like to have that feeling every day? To know someone…To know Tara would always be there for her?

_Diana and the other Watchers had yanked all the Slayers in residence down to the Great Hall to meet Niketa’s Dom. He was a scrawny geek with thick glasses. Niketa apparently didn’t realize she was a foot taller than her Dominant. She grinned like an idiot and pressed close to the guy’s side. “This is Matt.”_

_Matt reached up and tapped Niketa’s nose gently._

_“I mean, this is my Master.” Damned if Niketa didn’t bend her head to the little weasel. Bend her head and drop to her knees._

_“Good girl.”_

Faith twisted restlessly. She’d never be like Niketa. She’d never grovel and call anyone Master. Of course, Tara hadn’t even asked her to use a title when they’d been at the apartment Tuesday morning. Maybe Tara wouldn’t be a Grade A Bastard like Matt.

Reaching out, Faith turned on the bedside lamp. She stared at the brown leather cuff on her right wrist and tried to imagine Tara replacing it with a black one. A black one with Tara’s mark burned into it. Or…not a cuff.

A collar. Faith brushed her fingers over her throat. Then used the fingers on both hands to enclose her neck. Her fingers pressed into the skin. Not tight. Yet obviously there. Unmoving. Faith sucked in a breath, fighting not to move her hands. A collar wouldn’t disappear just because she didn’t like it. A collar was locked on.

Locked on. The pressure on Faith’s throat tightened, and she jackknifed off the bed. No. No, she wasn’t letting Tara do that to her. The fuzzy warm blanket wasn’t soft or safe. It was suffocating. Faith stumbled to the door, every ache and pain back and screaming louder than before. Faith ignored all of that. All she cared about was getting away.

The door came open without a sound beyond the rattle of the doorknob. Faith hadn’t been a prisoner; Tara hadn’t locked her in. Tara wasn’t very smart. If she’d wanted to keep Faith in the house, she should have brought a big fucking lock.

A little of the pressure on Faith’s throat eased. It got easier to breathe.

Until she got to the living room.

Tara was curled up on the couch with one of Giles’ massive books open on her lap.

Tara was sound asleep.

She was no threat. Not like that.

Faith felt like an idiot. She’d been on the verge of running away from the tiny blonde woman snoring like a freight train a few feet away. Big bad witch? Faith shook her head with a smirk. Right. Tara was truly terrifying like this. Moving slowly, she pulled the book away from Tara and set it safely on the far end of the couch. Giles would do his best to glare Tara into submission if she hurt his precious book. She froze, though, when Tara mumbled under her breath. “Don’t…No…stay.” Tara’s hands flailed in the air, grasping at nothing.

No way could Tara know Faith had been running away. Just in case, though, Faith whispered, “I’m right here, T.” She grabbed Tara’s hands before Tara poked anyone’s eyes out. This close, she noticed how tired Tara appeared. Dark semi-circles marred the skin beneath Tara’s eyes. Her lips were chapped. From chewing? “You’re a mess. Some friends you got, lettin’ you get like this.” Faith tugged and pulled, ignoring the twinges in her ribs, until Tara was stretched out on the couch. There was a crocheted blanket on the back of a nearby recliner. Faith arranged it over Tara.

There. Tara looked more comfortable now. A yawn nearly split Faith’s head in half. If she left in this condition, she’d never even get past the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign. Faith needed to sleep and heal enough to make a run for freedom realistic. She didn’t go back to the bedroom, though. Dropping into the recliner across the room, she kicked out the footrest and closed her eyes. She’d tell Tara in the morning that she wasn’t doing the whole bond thing and then decide where to go to avoid the Mayor and the Council.


	42. Chapter 42

Waking up was a process. It started with a twitch. A completely involuntary movement of Faith’s right leg. The twitch grew to a convulsive shiver. When her body stilled, she sucked in a deep breath, rubbed her hands over her face, and opened her eyes.

She wasn’t in her apartment.

It wasn’t the first time Faith had experienced this situation. It was, however, the first time she’d woken up in a strange place with Tara still snoring on the couch across the living room. Mind sluggish, Faith didn’t immediately put all the pieces together. Minutes passed with only the sound of Tara’s breathing to help Faith kick start her memory.

Faith rubbed the fingertips on her right hand together and worked to figure out why she was here. In this room. With Tara.

She’d been at the airport to kill the courier. That part was easy. She’d spend so much time worrying about _going_ to the airport that it was fresh and clear in her mind. The rest was more difficult. God, she hurt all over. Faith sat upright in the recliner and traced her path from the bar to the hanger. The courier had arrived… and _then_ Buffy had shown up. Each memory linked with the next and the livid bruises and the lingering pain provided the details. It had been one Hell of a fight with Buffy. A fight Faith had hoped to lose. A fight Faith _should_ have lost, if her history of losses against Buffy were any indication.

This time had been different. Buffy had hesitated at all the wrong moments.

_The lights of the airport glowed in the background. They cast an eerie shadow over Buffy’s face until her eyes looked like burning coals glaring down at Faith. “Get up, Faith. This is over. I’m not going to fight. You’re going to get up, and I’m going to take you home.”_

_Going home – back to the House – was not in Faith’s plan. “You’re gonna take me home? What would your boy think, B?” It was hard to fake a flirtatious smile and wink with Buffy looming over her, so Faith tacked on, “Maybe I got it wrong. Bet you want me to claim Xan ‘cause you ain’t got the skills he needs.”_

_Buffy stiffened, and her coal eyes burned hotter. “Get. Up,” she hissed between clenched teeth._

_“Make me,” Faith dared her. Relief and anticipation swept through Faith as Buffy gripped the collar of her jacket and yanked her off the ground._

_The feelings lasted until Buffy’s hands gentled and she shook Faith – just a little. “Xan says to tell you he wouldn’t go with you.” Buffy chuckled. “Oh, and he’d fight you if you even **thought** about stealing me away.” Using Faith’s jacket like a leash, she started dragging Faith toward town. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. I taught him everything he knows.”_

Over and over again, Buffy had stepped back. Controlled her emotions. Backed away from finishing Faith off.

Fine. If Buffy hadn’t killed Faith last night for all the things she’d done, then it was a good bet Buffy wouldn’t follow Faith when she left town. Climbing carefully out of the chair, Faith did an internal wellness check. Her ribs still hurt, but it was mostly a dull ache. Not the sharp pain that made breathing a bad idea. Each muscle in Faith’s body announced its displeasure when she stretched. She’d be walking as stiffly as a zombie until Slayer healing fixed the various strains and sprains.

Faith was good to go. With quick strides, she headed for the front door. The sun hadn’t come up yet. She might get all the way the way out of town before sunrise. Before the Mayor got to City Hall and realized there was no box waiting for him. As quietly as possible, Faith turned the deadbolt and grabbed the doorknob.

The snores from the couch faltered – and Faith froze. When she glanced over her shoulder, Tara had turned onto her side to face the door. Her eyes, though, were closed. Tara was asleep. She didn’t know Faith was running away.

A fist tightened around Faith’s heart. Tara believed in their bond. She _wanted_ it. When she realized Faith was gone…

Faith took a step toward the couch. One of the Watchers back in Boston had been a Red Cuff. His sub had been a Slayer who hadn’t made it back from patrol. His eyes. They’d been flat, like he’d died in the field with his Slayer. Shuddering, Faith stared at Tara and remembered the way Tara’s eyes had blazed blue fire at the apartment. Her electric grin at the doughnut shop.

Damn the bond! If Faith left, Tara would never look like that again. Never be happy. Tara deserved to be happy.

***

“Hey,” Tara mumbled through a yawn. “Did you get something to eat?” What a stupid question. If only her mind wasn’t so fogged with exhaustion. Or…was that something else? Struggling to sit up, Tara noticed Faith hadn’t responded. She didn’t appear to have even heard Tara speak. “Faith?” Was it always going to be like this? Was Faith always going to make Tara guess for answers? “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Still nothing. Faith stared fixedly at a point above and behind Tara’s head.

The lure of the bond was a beacon in Tara’s head. A single thought, a mental hand through the conduit, and Tara would know everything without having to wait for Faith to volunteer the information. Tara ruthlessly squashed the selfish desire to use the bond like that. Her bond with Faith was for sharing – if, and only if, Faith decided to open her heart and mind to Tara. Until then, Tara would have to do her best without it. The same way she had been for the last few weeks.

“Trish isn’t big on cooking but we have the basics. Eggs, bacon, and some toast? Or I could whip up some pancakes. They’re my specialty.” Tara climbed off the couch and headed into the kitchen as if Faith had actually responded. It was better than watching Faith avoid even _looking_ at her. “Pancakes _and_ eggs and bacon. I’m starving.” Actually, the thought of food made Tara nauseous. Faith had to be ready to eat the recliner, though. All the fighting last night and the energy expense from her Slayer healing would make for a very hungry Faith.

Her Faith statue remained frozen in place. Tara stuck her head around the entryway. “Sweetie, can you set the table, please? And maybe crack some eggs? That Slayer strength has to beat out a shell.” Her smile felt horribly fake and stiff. Every word sounded like Tara read from a cue card. The light-hearted banter she’d once shared with Faith was gone. The bond – and Faith’s reaction to their link – changed everything. Tara did her best to pretend normalcy.

Her hands shook as she pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, placing them on a counter near two large mixing bowls and a pancake griddle.

A little of Tara’s anxiety settled, though, when Faith slunk into the kitchen. Cabinets opened and closed with sharp bangs as Faith hunted for plates and glasses. Resolutely keeping her back to the activity, Tara busied herself with her own hunt. If she was going to make pancakes, she needed supplies. There were three boxes of pancake mix in the pantry. Tara grabbed them and returned to the counter.

The banging finally stopped as Tara dug her way into the cardboard boxes of mix. “How many eggs do ya’ want?”

“I promised I wouldn’t starve you the next time we ate together.” Tara’s smile was genuine now. “Do the whole dozen.” The last box popped open with a puff of dry mix escaping. Thankfully, Maxie had a nice mixer or Tara might have needed Faith’s muscles to whisk it all. Carefully adding water to the massive pile of powdered mix, Tara set the bowl under the mixer and turned it on. To the sound of the low-speed whir, she piled bacon slices onto a microwaveable press.

She could feel Faith’s body heat when Faith stepped up to the counter a few feet away and tapped the first egg against the side of another bowl. They didn’t speak, out loud or through the bond. And Tara kept to her side of the mental conduit. Still, it was incredibly…homey. Little by little, she relaxed, humming softly under her breath. She hadn’t felt this kind of peace and well-being since before her mother had died.

Lost in her happy place, Tara poured, flipped and plated a mountain of pancakes. She built an impressive stack of bacon and surrounded it with fluffy scrambled eggs.

“I got it.” Faith batted Tara’s hands away from the serving platters. “Slayers is good for more than crackin’ eggs, T. Don’t want all this to end up on the floor.” She whisked the platters of food across the kitchen, a plate balanced in each hand.

“Are you saying I’m too weak to carry _pancakes_?” Tara rolled her eyes and marched with faux insult to the table. “I told you, sweetie, I don’t work out, but that doesn’t mean a plate of breakfast foods will give me spaghetti arms. I mean, I managed to lug two bags of Mr. Giles’ priceless tomes all the way home.”

Faith chuckled and deftly slid the plates onto the table. “How’d ya’ manage to get ‘em out of the Library? Steal ‘em when he wasn’t looking? Of some kinda spell so he wouldn’t freak?”

“I asked him nicely,” Tara said primly. Of course, she’d added a tiny, almost completely unnoticeable, Dominant stare along with her request. Giles had folded like an accordion. “This is nice, Faith.” The table looked beautiful. The chipped, everyday plates had been brightened by the fake floral arrangement normally sitting on the chest of drawers in Tara’s room, and the napkins had been whimsically folded into origami swans.

“One of the Watchers at the Boston HQ showed me how to do all kinds of shit with paper.” Hesitant, shy Faith was intoxicating. Tara soaked up the lowered chin and darting glances.

She did not, however, comment on Faith’s unusual demeanor. “Sit down and eat, sweetie.” Tara pushed the pancakes closer to Faith’s place setting. “Cold pancakes are gross, and there is no way I can manage more than a couple.”

Meeting Tara’s gaze, Faith added four pancakes to a plate. Eggs and strips of bacon, too. The plate slide across the table until it stopped in front of Tara. “Heard Red say she had to eat more after doin’ spells. Don’t think she ever did anything like I felt last night.”

Faith had felt that? Tara grabbed Faith’s hand. “Sweetie? Are you… I d-didn’t th-think…” She was an idiot. How could she have forgotten the bond? Her connection to Faith would have made her vulnerable to the magic. Not even the Circle would have prevented the energies from passing from Tara to Faith.

“Nah, I’m good.” Tara noticed Faith’s physical and emotional withdrawal immediately. And not only because Faith pulled her hand away. Something closed off in Faith’s eyes.

Frustration ballooned inside Tara. “Faith!” The name came out sharp and hard – and Faith’s face tightened. Her head came up defiantly. Backing down was tough. Yet Tara gritted her teeth and did it. She’d seen the results of pushing Faith. It glared at her from across the table. Faith fed on anger and aggression. Tara had to be smart and use other ways to encourage the behavior she wanted to see: namely, sharing her thoughts and feelings with Tara. “We forgot the syrup. Let me grab it. Do you need anything else while I’m up?”

Tara didn’t expect a response, so Faith’s humorous, “You put anything else over here and the table’s gonna crack,” was a complete surprise.

“I’ve already broken the coffee table in the living room. What’s one more table?” Maybe in a hundred years, Tara would be used to Faith’s lightning-fast mood changes. “Unless you want cereal or left over lasagna, though, you’ll have to wait until we go to the grocery.” The syrup bottle thunked onto the table and Tara paused, pretending to watch for developing cracks. “We’re safe…”

A knock on the front door interrupted.

“We’re safe from the syrup anyway. Door to door salesmen, though, are another matter. Get started on breakfast, sweetie. I’ll see who it is.” Tara waved Faith off when she started to stand. “Eat.” Stubborn submissive. Striding through the house, Tara considered what to do with the rest of the day. She wasn’t going to class. Or the House. Today was for her and Faith…if she could only decide what that meant. Talking was out. Faith wasn’t ready for that. Tara wasn’t either. She needed Faith to trust her more for a personal conversation. Mind occupied with plans and strategies, Tara opened the front door. “Can I help you?” A heart beat later, she froze.

There were armed men on the front porch! Armed men with Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. “Ms. Maclay, we’re here for Ms. Lehane.”

Fear warred with anger. Anger won. “You can’t have her.” Tara was very sure on that point. If the Council wanted Faith, they’d have to go through her – and the warding she’d placed on the house.

“I don’t believe you understand,” Wyndham-Pryce said. His superior smirk set Tara’s teeth on edge. “Ms. Lehane is dangerous. She killed the Deputy Mayor of this city and allied herself with a man suspected of plotting the deaths of every citizen of Sunnydale.”

Watcher Wes had a flair for the dramatic, but Tara silently acknowledged his accuracy. At least when it came to the death of Allan Finch. “I understand completely. I understand that Faith was cleared of killing Deputy Mayor Finch.” She ruthlessly continued to talk, even as Wyndham-Pryce objected. “I understand that Faith no longer works for the Council and isn’t subject to its rules.”

“Be that as it may, the Council has issued a warrant for Ms. Lehane’s arrest.” He flapped a hand in the air, and one of the gunmen took a step toward the open doorway before bouncing off the shield Tara had erected the night before.

Tara crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I don’t care about the Council _or_ its warrants!”

Even though Wyndham-Pryce scowled back at her, he didn’t lose control. Instead, he moved right to the edge of the warding and gently touched it. Sparks flew and Tara felt the drain on her reservoir as magic replaced what was being used. “You _work_ for the Council, Ms. Maclay.”

“I do.” Tara didn’t back down. “I don’t have to.” Not with Faith eating pancakes in the kitchen and their bond fully open. The Council had been a means to an end. She ignored the twist of regret; she’d enjoyed working with Giles and his gang of misfit demon fighters.

“If you don’t turn over Ms. Lehane, the Council will treat you as an accessory to any crime she’s committed. Harboring a fugitive…”

***

Faith dug into the pancakes. Tara was right. Her pancakes _rocked_. A dozen of them, drenched in syrup, disappeared in seconds, and Faith quickly filled another plate. But the first big bite lodged in her throat.

Wes was at the door. She heard his voice, if not the exact words, all the way in the kitchen. There was only one reason for him to show up. He was there to take her back to England, just like Buffy had said.

Too bad. Faith wasn’t going. Fork clutched in her hand like a weapon, she crept into the living room and inched toward the front entryway in time to hear Tara say, “That fugitive is my submissive, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. She belongs to me. If you, or your Retrieval Team, come here again, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. That warrant isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.” Then the front door slammed.

There wasn’t time to hide. Tara marched into the living room, face flushed and eyes flashing. Lady Tara was in the building. Faith grinned even as that mental blanket tried to smother her again. Damn, Tara was hot.

“I thought I told you to eat breakfast.” Carnal fantasy shriveled under Tara’s glare, quickly replaced by very real desire. Faith reeled with a need to drop to her knees and bow her head under Tara’s Dominant bearing. “Those pancakes better be gone when I get back in the kitchen.”


	43. Chapter 43

“Or what? You gonna hold me down and stuff ‘em in my mouth?” Faith snorted and held her knees firm. Well, mostly firm. If Tara had been watching, she’d have seen the way they flexed in response to her Dominant tone.

Tara’s eyes blazed even brighter. The blue flash drew Faith in, promised retribution. “Do I _need_ to hold you down?”

It was far too hot in the house. All the moisture in the air was gone, too. Faith swallowed and licked suddenly parched lips as Tara advanced another step. They were mere inches apart now. Inches that seemed like miles. She wanted Tara closer. Wanted… What _did_ she want? Head spinning, thoughts tangled, Faith stared helplessly at Tara.

“Answer the question, sweetie. Do I need to hold you down?” The words were so soft. Just like Tara.  But the force behind them outstripped even Buffy’s most powerful punches.

Faith reeled mentally. “No. No, Tara.” What would it feel like to have Tara hold her down? The floor wavered under Faith’s feet. Warm, phantom hands would wrap around her wrists. Blue eyes would watch Faith’s every reaction. “Yes,” Faith mumbled. Yes. No. Please. What was happening?

She might have continued to babble if Tara hadn’t stroked a finger over Faith’s lips. “No. You’re right, my Slayer. I won’t hold you down. That’s a hard limit; you told me that.” The finger kept stroking even as Tara smiled that crooked, quicksilver smile. “Besides, Slayer metabolism is stronger than any Dominant. All I’d have to do is wave the plate under your nose.” The intensity in the room shifted as Tara took Faith’s hand and stepped back.

Again? Tara was backing off _again?_ Faith stiffened and yanked her hand away.

Tara immediately linked their fingers a second time – and she held on too tightly for Faith to pull away unless she wanted to employ Slayer strength. “Do you want to test my theory? Or am I not strong enough to lift the plate up to your nose?” Tara was a force of Nature; she tugged Faith along in her wake all the way to the kitchen table. “You barely started on breakfast. Sit and eat.”

When Faith stood and stared, Tara sighed and put her free hand on her hip. Without another word, Tara tilted her head for a second. Then she let go of Faith’s hand. She pulled a chair, Faith’s chair, away from the table. Her hands came back, warm and soft even through Faith’s clothes, and gently guided Faith into the seat.

“Should I warm everything up?” Tara didn’t wait for an answer. Her warm hands disappeared along with the plates. The microwave whirred into life right along with the buzzing in Faith’s head.

Buzzing. Faith started to turn and protest. Until she realized there was no _feel_ behind the buzz. Tara wasn’t pushing through the link. Then what the Hell had almost happened in the living room? Faith had been ready to beg. She’d ben on the verge of dropping to her knees. She’d _wanted_ Tara to control her, hold her down. Fuck! Faith had let Tara manhandle her into the kitchen like a helpless child.

“I was thinking,” Tara said, interrupting Faith’s unhappy thoughts. “With Wes and the Council on our doorstep,” _our?_ Faith wondered, “maybe I should find a good martial arts instructor. I need to learn to protect myself with more than magic. No matter how satisfying it might be to turn Watcher Wes into a rat, using magic on non-witches is against everything I believe in.”

It was against the law, too. Faith remembered an argument between Willow and one of the baby witches at the House one night.

“Since you weren’t interested in taking me on as a student, I need to find a place to study.  Are there any…what do you call them? Karate schools in town?” Tara set the pancake plate onto the table.

Steam curled up from the eggs and the pancakes looked soft and fluffy. Faith automatically poured more syrup on them before using the fork still clutched in her fist to cut off a hunk.  “Ain’t got a clue.” The Council didn’t let Slayers study outside of the HQs or Houses while they were under contract.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faith noticed Tara frown. “Oh.” Her Dominance was gone as if it had never existed. Normal Tara appeared at a loss.

“Tried the phone book?” The question was garbled by the large bite of pancakes Faith shoved into her mouth. Tara’s frown turned into a grin accompanied by giggles. Faith nearly choked on her breakfast as she snickered in time with Tara’s laughter.

“Smart ass.” With a final series of giggles, Tara settled back in her chair and yawned. “Goddess. Maybe working out will wake me up, too. If it takes too long for you to finish breakfast, I’ll be sound asleep with my head on the table.”

That might not be such a bad plan. Tara looked terrible. “If ya’ do, the dojo’ll still be there tomorrow.” The last of Faith’s merriment faded. “You look like shit,” she said before thinking about it. “When was the last time you slept? And don’t say last night. You passed out over that big book of Giles on the couch.” Because she’d given up her bed to Faith. Guilt sprang to life and Faith ruthlessly stomped it out. “You lost weight, too. Mrs. S not invite you Casa de Buffy for dinner?”

A slow flush tinted Tara’s cheeks, and her lips pressed together.

“Maybe I outta be threatening to feed _you_ pancakes.” Holding a large bite of eggs across the table, Faith snapped, “Eat.”

The tightly pressed lips quivered. “I’m not hungry,” Tara said. She crossed her arms and stared defiantly at Faith as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?”

Faith glared back. “Eat,” she repeated.

One blond eyebrow rose in challenge.

Nearly snarling, Faith dropped the fork and stood up. Tara needed to eat. If that meant Faith had to force the issue, so be it. Except… As she stared into Tara’s stubborn blue eyes, she noticed they were also red-rimmed and shadowed with exhaustion. The world shifted somehow. Faith didn’t want to _force_ Tara to do anything. She wanted…

What did she want?

A little of Tara’s glare softened. “Sweetie?”

“You gotta start takin’ care of yourself.” If anyone had said that to Faith, she’d have tossed them into the nearest wall. But she meant it. Tara had to stop running herself into the ground. “You can’t stop eatin’ or sleepin’. No matter what Giles and the Scoobies are freaking over.” Dropping to her knees wasn’t in Faith’s plans. No way. Yet Faith ignored the chill of the cold tiles through her jeans and knelt in front of Tara. “Please eat.”

“I thought I told you to never kneel without a pillow?” Tara asked in a quavering whisper. Then damned if Tara didn’t reach for the fork. “Fine. I’ll eat. But the deal is, so will you. Now get off the floor and finish those pancakes.”

“Bitch.” Faith hauled herself back into her chair and snatched a fresh pancake from the platter. She lined eggs up and then folded the pancake like a breakfast taco. She pointed to the untouched plate in front of Tara. “We got a deal.”

The tines on Tara’s fork scraped across the plate as she viciously stabbed a strip of bacon. “That’s Lady Bitch to you.”  

***

Breakfast had been a mistake, Tara thought two hours later. She pressed a hand over her stomach and swallowed hard. She was crazy. _This_ was crazy. The stiff canvas uniform, her _gi,_ made it difficult to move. It was heavy and binding. Smothering. The mat under her feet was somehow hard and squishy at the same time, leaving her off-balance.

It also didn’t help that she was the only woman in the entire line of muscled students. She should just go home. Take Faith and go home. There was no way she could go through with this. Unfortunately, Tara had waited too long to run for the door. A tiny older woman walked in front of the class.

“Glad you could all make it. I always wonder if anyone’s going to show up for these lunchtime get togethers.” Her smile was bright and disarming. “Let’s get started.”

“Tara?” A new voice said from behind as the row of students all snapped to attention. The owner was a very tall, thin submissive. His head was shaved and colorful tattoos peeked from the sleeves of his well-worn gi. “You’ll be working with me today. Lyn doesn’t torture anyone until at least the second lesson.”

His smile was probably supposed to be reassuring. It did nothing to stem Tara’s increasing nervousness.

“I’m John.” He walked away and Tara automatically followed him – and then wished she hadn’t. John stopped at the far end of the mat, right in front of a floor to ceiling mirror. Tara winced and looked away from her reflection, dropping her eyes to her bare toes. “Now, the first thing we always teach is the traditional bow. From here on out, you’ll need to bow every time you step on or off the mat.” Stepping between Tara and the mirror, he held out his hands. “Start like this.”

Tara raised her eyes and watched him fold his right hand into a fist and hold it in front of his chest. She emulated him, comparing her hand to his larger one. At his direction, she laid her open left hand over her fist.

John held the pose and bowed. Tara followed suit with less grace. “Just like that. A lot of what we do has its basis in tradition. Our tradition stresses that fighting is always a last resort. Your right hand, the fist, is war. The left is peace.” He held out his hands in the proscribed position. “Peace covers war.”

It was a fantastic concept. One Tara would normally support. With the image of Wes and the Retrieval Team still fresh in her mind, though, Tara longed for something a little more violent. If magical firepower was out, John needed to put peace away and get to the fighting.

“The first moves we teach are building blocks.” Facing the mirror, John spread his legs and bent his knees. “This is the Horse Stance.” He watched Tara’s reflection patiently while she took the odd position. Why was it called the Horse Stance? It looked nothing like a horse. It also made Tara’s knees ache as she maintained the pose.

At least the Front Two Knuckle Punch which followed made sense. Even if Tara felt uncoordinated and pathetic as she swung her fists in and out. Over and over. She started sweating in minutes. The _gi_ thing was _hot_. And it didn’t pop with each punch the way John’s did. Goddess. Tara was a lost cause. Even if she ever managed to hit someone, she’d never do any damage.

Her Front Instep Kick was worse. She wobbled like a Weeble (with more chance of falling down). The mirror was uncaring and unforgiving. It showed her flushed, sweat-covered cheeks. Each hair that slipped out of the braid Tara had created before she and Faith left the house. This was a _stupid_ idea. This class was supposed to keep her safe from the Council. And… Maybe Tara had hoped learning martial arts would bring her and Faith closer together. Given them something they could share since Faith didn’t want to share her heart and mind with Tara via the bond.

All Tara had accomplished was making a sweaty fool of herself while Faith watched. She could _feel_ Faith laughing at her without even checking the bond. Her foot dropped to the mat, and Tara stared at her reflection. She had to face facts. She’d never be a fighter. Wes and the Retrieval Team would run right over her unless violated all her personal beliefs and used magic. The Mayor hadn’t thought Tara was a threat when they’d met at City Hall. She could imagine his sleazy smirk right before he stole Faith away.

***

Tara needed to take a break. That moron who’d been instructing her wasn’t paying attention, and Tara’s form was crap. She was probably getting tired, considering she’d mentioned that she never worked out. All the Watcher’s Faith had met in Boston the first time had stressed the need to ease into an exercise program. Faith shifted in the uncomfortable folding chair. Why wasn’t that guy paying attention?

It turned out he _was_ paying attention – to the wiggling bundle of noise sitting right next to Faith. Every few seconds, Tall and Bald glanced over and waved at the kid and its mother. If he did it one more time, Faith was going to show him what a real expert in fighting could do. The dumbass wouldn’t stand a chance.  A little of her boredom disappeared beneath rising anticipation – only to be completely swamped by despair. The room wavered in and out of focus through the tears suddenly brimming in Faith’s eyes.

She was pathetic. Losing all desire to charge into battle, Faith slumped back in her chair. Depression darkened the brightly-lit room. She was so pathetic that her scrawny, uncoordinated Dominant (who stuttered and blushed like a schoolgirl) had to take karate. Damn Buffy for not finishing the job last night. She scowled and pulled her jacket closed. The old, worn denim was like a straightjacket. A stiff, heavy canvas shroud.

_I shouldn’t be here_. That was the truth. Faith stood and strode toward the exit. She was out of here.

_Faith deserves someone better than me._ Self-loathing closed its fingers around Faith’s heart until her chest ached. _Why would she want someone so weak?_ Faith swiped impatiently at her eyes, clearing away the tears that had spilled over.

She was so busy wiping and running away, she never saw the man in the doorway until it was too late. The man was built like a brick wall. Faith grunted and stumbled back a step. The shock shook her out of her cycle of self-loathing. With a mumbled apology, she glanced around. Tara was still in front of the mirror, head down and hair hiding her face. Faith watched her raise a hand to wipe her forehead. No. Wipe her eyes. And pull at the jacket of her _gi_.

Faith’s hands rose automatically and stroked the lapels of her jacket. She could feel it now, a combination of buzz and tickle. Last night, Faith had unwillingly sensed Tara’s thoughts and emotions through the bond – until Tara turned the whole thing off. For some reason, Tara wasn’t blocking things now. Maybe she was too distracted.

Too distracted and upset. Faith’s insides twisted as Tara’s emotions continued to surge through their bond.

Did Tara really think she wasn’t good enough for Faith? That was fucking crazy. Tara was beautiful and nice and she deserved a submissive who believed in love, Fate, and all the soulmate crap. Someone who hadn’t spread her legs for half of Boston before she was fifteen and then managed to piss off the entire Slayer’s Council in a matter of months. Straightening her shoulders, Faith vowed to tell Tara exactly that. She trotted across the mat. “Hey.”

Her voice was too soft. It couldn’t compete with the happy shrieks from Tall and Bald’s kid or the grunts of effort from the other students. Tara didn’t even look up. Faith tried again. “Wes is gonna scream like a girl when he sees you with ‘grr’ on, T.” The buzzing was stronger. Tara’s emotions hovered in Faith’s mind; the warm, fuzzy blanket replaced with dark, heavy clouds. “Bet you could even take on B.”

Instead of making Tara laugh, Faith’s words bowed Tara’s shoulders further.

Faith reached out, hand not quite touching Tara’s arm. “Stop beatin’ yourself up. You can’t learn to fight in an hour. Not even Slayers are that good. Why do you think Giles was pissed at me for skippin’ sparring sessions? Or why Wes wanted to drag my ass out of bed in the middle of the night to run the obstacle course?” The words tumbled out as Faith scrambled to make Tara raise her head. To make Tara look like _Tara._ “T? You listenin’?” She gently set her fingers on the sleeve of Tara’s _gi._ Then she slid her fingers up, tucking Tara’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t make me get mean,” Faith threatened softly.

A tiny smile lightened Tara’s frown. “You get mean?”

“Damn right.” Some of the pressure in Faith’s head lessened, replaced with a feeling like bubbles swirling and popping in her mind. It tickled – and had Faith smiling right along with Tara. “Been tellin’ ya. I’m the biggest, baddest Slayer around.” It was difficult to tame her grin and scowl convincingly, but Faith forced her lips into alignment. “That moron they got teachin’ you don’t know what he’s doing. You’re doing too much. Bet your muscles are like the spaghetti when B tries to cook, all limp and shit.” She started massaging Tara’s shoulders and arms, grinning slightly at the breathy moan her actions earned. “You ain’t gonna be able to move later.”

Tara’s expression grew mulish. “I’ll be fine.”

Sure she would. Faith didn’t roll her eyes only because Tara was watching her in the mirror. “Hope you have ice packs and Advil at home.” With a last squeeze, Faith moved back. “Come on. Let’s go before you tighten up and I gotta carry you.” Maybe she could do a real massage of Tara’s muscles then. One aided by Bengay.

“I’m not ready to go.” Tara yanked her _gi_ top straight and rolled her neck. “Class doesn’t end for another thirty minutes.”

In a half hour, Tara would be in a moaning pile on the floor. Crossing her arms over her chest, Faith gave Tara her best Slayer Glare. “Don’t even think about stayin’.” If Tara wasn’t bright enough to make the right decision, Faith had no problem stepping in. The witch needed a keeper. Couch potatoes didn’t turn into ninja warriors in ninety minutes.

Apparently, Faith’s glare wasn’t as fearsome as she’d always believed. Completely unfazed by Faith’s threat, Tara raised her right leg and rotated her hip in an attempt to stretch. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Witch Glare was potent. Very potent. Faith’s backbone melted under the blue fire in Tara’s eyes; her head dipped and she dropped her gaze. “I am not leaving,” Tara announced in a weirdly soft yet hard tone. “You may sit and wait for me, or you can stand right there. I don’t care.”

“I hate to interrupt,” a deep voice interrupted. “But you can’t be on the mat in shoes. And I don’t remember a Slayer signing up for a beginner class. That means we don’t have an insurance waiver on file. No waiver, no training.” Tanned bare feet and the bottom of faded blue _gi_ pants stepped into Faith’s line of vision.

“Faith? It looks like your options have changed.” A thread of humor joined the steel in Tara’s voice. “Sit on the sidelines or join the class.” The feel of Tara in Faith’s head faded, as if Tara had pulled back. Not before Faith caught a hint of wistfulness along the link. _Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if Faith…_

The thought never completed. Faith was alone in her head again. It was enough, though. Tara wanted Faith to take the class with her. A beginner karate class. She could wipe the mat with everyone here.  None of that mattered. Tara needed someone to watch out for her and make sure she didn’t push too hard. No one here would do that. Faith regained her backbone. “Where do ya’ want me to sign?” she asked as she balanced on one leg to unlace a boot.


	44. Chapter 44

“I told ya’ to stop,” Faith growled. “But no. ‘I can do it.’” She forced her voice into a falsetto version of Tara’s. “Fucking idiot.” The body leaning heavily into hers as they limped down the sidewalk stiffened, one hand rising enough to jab a very pointy finger into Faith’s side.

“I’ll be fine, my Slayer.” Tara spoiled the assertion with a muffled moan as shifted against Faith. “And if I’m not…it will save the Council and the Mayor a lot of work.” Her eyes met Faith’s. She knew. She absolutely knew. Faith saw the awareness of their danger in the cold, clear depths of Tara’s eyes.

Somehow, Tara had seen their “shadows,” too. One across the street, staring into a store window, dressed in dark cargo pants. Retrieval Team, even if his weapons were out of sight. There was another sitting on a bench up the block. This one hadn’t bothered to pretend. A holstered gun nestled against his thigh, and the Slayer’s Council insignia glittered on his shirt collar.

A shiver worked up Faith’s spine as Tara stared at her. Those eyes… Fuck. How had she ever thought Tara was weak? Faith’s _knees_ were weak. All that promise of pain and horrible death in Tara’s eyes was fucking hot. Wes and the Council. The Mayor. They’d never know what hit them. “Ain’t gonna let it get that far. They ain’t after you. When they come,” and they would, “stay out of the way.”

All the warmth leeched out of the day when Tara frowned. “No.” One single word, yet Faith realized Tara would never see reason.

Stupid witch. Scowling, Faith gave up on convincing Tara to duck and run for cover if the fighting broke out. Instead, she decided to get Tara home – and to relative safety – faster. Tara had once teased her about carrying her through Sunnydale. It was time to give Tara what she’d wanted. With a grunt, she scooped Tara off the ground.

“Faith!”

“Shut up.” Faith stalked down the street. The Retrieval goons let her pass, but Faith knew they were following. No one else on the sidewalk stuck out. Faith examined them all closely. She recognized a few people, mostly kids from the high school with their families. Nothing and no one out of place. But the Council was smart. Two men, no matter how heavily armed, wouldn’t be enough to take out a Slayer.

Pushing her senses out, Faith scanned the area. Ah. There. That was the reason for the small goon squad. There was a Slayer out and about, too. Not Buffy. The feel was wrong. “We got trouble.”

Tara wiggled. “Put me down.”

“So you can fall over? Be lucky if ya’ last a second.” Fear turned Faith vicious. She wasn’t letting the Council take her. She’d kill them all if she had to.

“Faith.” A warm hand touched her cheek. “You aren’t alone; I promise I’m not helpless.” A tiny grin erased some of the coldness in Tara’s expression. “Thankfully, magic doesn’t require running or even moving. Just put me down, sweetie.”

The Tara blanket in Faith’s mind warmed and moved closer. It brushed Faith’s mind gently, offering…something. Something Faith yearned for even as she shoved it away. “Not gonna happen.” Tara was getting a free ride all the way home unless the Council decided to come after them in public. Faith’s eyes darted left and right. They were almost to the end of the shopping district. Less of an audience and fewer places to hide once they cleared this block. Her grip on Tara tightened. Bastards. Tara wasn’t part of this. Their fight was with her.

Sharp teeth nipped Faith’s throat. “Ow!”

“Put me down, please.” The polite phrasing didn’t mask the power of Tara’s command. “Whatever you think of our bond…” Tara’s gaze flickered away and Faith saw her swallow hard before she continued. “The law says you belong to me until you officially repudiate the bond. If the Council chooses to ignore that fact, they won’t like the results.”

_“You think you’re leavin’?” Faith’s mother laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “You won’t make it to the door. In case you missed it, you’re my meal ticket.” Reaching out, she grabbed Faith by the hair. “Your body belongs to me.”_

Faith dropped Tara to the ground, only marginally aware of Tara’s grunt at the abrupt move. “I ain’t property. You don’t own me.”

It was clear Tara didn’t agree. She flushed brightly and sucked in a deep breath. “We are bonded,” she said between clenched teeth. “I belong to you, too. But that really isn’t the point. The _point_ is that there are many reasons the Council probably won’t do anything worse than stalk us in public.”

“Whatever.” Faith stuffed her hands in her pockets and stalked down the sidewalk. What was wrong with her? This wasn’t Tara’s fault. The Council wasn’t waiting for the perfect time to snatch _Tara_ off the street and haul her England.

“Do you always think so much?” Moving stiffly, Tara trotted to keep up with Faith’s ground-eating pace. “And why do you frown all the time? Life isn’t that bad.”

She grinned at Faith’s disbelieving stare – and her deliberately increased frown.

“Come on.” Tara grabbed Faith’s hand. “The sun’s out. The sky’s so blue it almost hurts your eyes. We have nowhere else we have to be.”

Faith stayed put. “You’re crazy!” The words exploded sharply. “Life sucks. Everything I touch, every fucking thing I do goes wrong. You don’t know… What I am. What I’ve done. The Council thinks I ain’t good enough to be a Slayer ‘cause I broke so many rules. They don’t know _anything._ If they knew the truth about me, they’da never let me into the HQ in Boston.” In that instant, Faith was suddenly so angry she shook with it. Her hands fisted and her voice rose. “Get away from me! Just fucking get away and leave me alone!”

Her shout was a hoarse roar – and Tara reacted by stepping right into Faith’s personal space. “I will not.” In stark contrast to Faith’s volume, Tara’s voice was so quiet, Faith had to concentrate to hear her response. “I _will not_ leave, Faith. I will not go away. I will not abandon you.” Tara’s eyes flashed; the sparks hypnotized Faith. The world faded until all Faith could see were those bright blue eyes. All she could hear were the soft words hammering at her anger.

“I don’t care about your past, Faith. Not in the way you seem to think. I’m not going to run away because of who and what you are.” Reaching up, Tara stroked a hand gently down Faith’s cheek. “If you’d let me in, all I want to do is help you face that past and move on. You’re so beautiful and strong. And I know you don’t believe me.”

Faith _wanted_ to believe. She just…she couldn’t. Tara had to be wrong. Everyone else had it right. She was a screw up.

The fingers on Faith’s face shift suddenly. Tara gripped Faith’s chin tightly, yanking her head down until she had no alternative except to meet Tara’s eyes. They bore into Faith. “Making poor decisions isn’t the end of the world, my Slayer” A little of Tara’s intensity faded and she smiled. “It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

Faith’s lips curled in automatic response, enjoying the way Tara’s eyes lost some of their cold chill.

“We all do stupid things.” Tara’s voice rolled over and around Faith, just like that warm, fuzzy blanket Faith sensed hovering just out of reach in her mind. “All of us, Faith. We make the wrong choices; we say the wrong things. We all have pasts that aren’t as perfect as we like to pretend.” Her fingers loosened but didn’t drop away from Faith’s chin. “And there are always people out there who are happy to tell you how bad or evil or terrible you are.”

Had someone done that to Tara? Faith would tear them limb from limb. Tara wasn’t like her.

Tara’s thumb slid over Faith’s lips in a soft caress. “I don’t think you’re bad, Faith.”

Faith’s protest was automatic. “I’m a loser.”

“I’m sorry.” Boston in mid-winter was warmer than Tara’s voice. Faith shivered and instinctively shrank from the chill. “What did you say?”

Barely breathing, Faith stared over Tara’s shoulder into the display window of a store. Formal dresses. Ugly crap. Buffy would love the girly pink one.

“I asked a question, Faith. What did you say?” The command was frighteningly quiet.

Faith fought that command. She glared at the dress until it should have burst into flames or turned into dust like a staked vampire. It didn’t. And Tara didn’t go away. She stood pressed into Faith and waited. Tara didn’t say anything else. Tara just…stared. The stare soaked into Faith. She cleared her throat. Rolled her shoulders.

And the stare never wavered. It never wavered and yet it grew heavier. It pressed on Faith’s shoulders until Faith had to kneel. The sidewalk was cold and hard under her knees – and still the stare continued. Faith had never felt anything like it. It was a living, breathing _thing._ It reached deep inside her and punched a hole in her backbone. Her chin sank to her chest. “I said ‘I’m a loser,’ Tara,” she mumbled.

“Thank you, Faith.” A tiny ray of sunlight touched Faith in time with the gentle hand that stroked the top of her head. “I thought that’s what I heard. But I’m sure we’ve had this discussion. The way you should _never_ talk about yourself. Do you remember that, Faith? What did I tell you last time?”

What the Hell was Tara talking about? Faith frantically tried to remember something. Anything. She had to answer Tara. She had to. Or that stare might eat all the way through her soul. Without conscious thought, Faith leaned into Tara’s hand, still resting on her head. Fuck. Oh, fuck. They _had_ had this conversation before. Twice. “You…ah, you don’t like when I say shit about myself.”

Tara’s hand moved, her fingers combing through Faith’s hair. Faith closed her eyes and sighed. It felt _so good._ Not as good as Tara’s praise, though. “Good girl, my Slayer.” The single ray of sunlight expanded until light and warmth poured over Faith. It soaked through her until even the concrete warmed. “Now… Because you’re such a good girl, Faith, I’m sure you’ll be able to tell me three reasons you are most definitely not a loser.”

The first reason was easy. “I’m a Slayer,” Faith said, not questioning Tara’s request. She wanted to hear Tara tell her she was good again. She wanted Tara to keep touching her. Whatever it took.

“Hmmm, that’s right. You’re a good Slayer,” Tara agreed. Her free hand stroked Faith’s neck. “What else?”

Now Faith had to work for Tara’s praise. She was a Slayer. Great. What else could she say? “Uh…” Mind blank, Faith stared up at Tara. “I…I’m… I know how to hotwire a car.” As soon as she said the words, she wanted to call them back. What a fucking fantastic way to convince Tara that Faith wasn’t a loser.

But Tara didn’t laugh or storm off in disgust. She smiled instead. “I always wanted to know how to do that. They make it look so cool and useful in the movies.” Faith smiled back, falling into the bottomless blue of Tara’s eyes. “One more, sweetie. You’ve given me two. Tell me one more way you are not a loser.”

“I can crack eggs pretty good,” Faith said in a rush. She’d helped with breakfast this morning, thanks to her “special skill” with egg cracking.

A low laugh rewarded her answer. “Very well done, sweetie.” The laugh was good. It crept through Faith, creating tiny bursts of energy. The kiss was so much better. Faith leaned up and into Tara’s lips. Soft and hard and oh, so hot. Their earlier positions were reversed when Tara slowly pulled away: Faith, still on her knees, leaned heavily into Tara.

She could stay like this forever. Faith floated. She’d made Tara happy. She’d given Tara what she wanted.

“I think you can add ‘good kisser’ to your list.” Tara’s voice enhanced the warm, fuzzy haze in Faith’s mind. When Tara fisted her hair and pulled, Faith rose to her feet. “Goddess, you are amazing. Let’s get you home.”

A tiny, satisfied smirk snuck passed Faith’s control. Tara was all heated up with nowhere to go – just like the last time. If she wanted to play with a Slayer as hot as Faith, she’d better start planning ahead.

“Cocky Slayer.” Damned if Tara didn’t sound pleased with that description. Releasing her hold on Faith’s hair, she gently linked their fingers. “I might be angry if you didn’t have reason to be so confident.”

“You think I’m sexy. Admit it.” Faith stroked her thumb over the back of Tara’s hand. A heartbeat later, Tara shivered and her breath caught. “No way you can deny it, witch. I got your number.”

“You think so?” The cool words didn’t match the warm rumble of desire in Tara’s voice. One eyebrow rose, daring Faith to keep pushing.

With a chuckle, Faith put her thumb back where it belonged. Safely tucked close to Tara’s. Tara moved closer, too, until their shoulders brushed with each step. “Put the eyebrow away. They teach you that in the cradle or some shit? B does it, too.” Wes had tried. He’d sucked at it. “I’ll be good.” For now. Faith planned on being far from “good” when they got back to Tara’s house. She’d have Tara begging for attention in minutes.

The sidewalk cleared, as Faith had expected. The few pedestrians glanced at her and Tara with indulgent smiles. She automatically stepped even closer to Tara, keeping her safe. People needed to mind their own business. Like the damned Council. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb stuck out even more now. Faith tracked their movements but they didn’t approach. They stayed half a block behind, one on the opposite side of the street. One directly behind Faith and Tara. The Slayer blip on the radar maintained her distance, too.

“Told you. They won’t do anything out here.” Tara bumped Faith’s shoulder. “I know things.”

For once, Faith decided _not_ to make a smart comment. She did, however, roll her eyes to the sound of Tara’s giggles. When the laughter died, Tara rested her head on Faith’s shoulder. “Fate’s funny,” she announced. “I came here because UCS offered me a scholarship.”

Faith normally didn’t find anything to do with Fate amusing. Fate had made her a Slayer when there was no way she’d ever fit in with the Council. Fate had bonded her to Tara, too, when Tara belonged with someone… Faith tempered her thoughts in case Tara managed to hear them. She remembered the recent lesson.

“Who comes to Sunnydale except demons and vampires?” Tara’s voice was muffled by Faith’s jacket, but she kept talking. “When I got here, though, I had a plan. Hide out in my single room, get my degree, and go somewhere. Anywhere.”

“Somethin’ happened.” Joining the Council wasn’t any part of hiding out. Faith wanted to ask yet didn’t. Tara was sharing information; if she interrupted, Tara might stop.

Tara’s laugh was wry this time, and Faith missed the happier sound from before. “You met Maxie and Trish last night. _They_ happened. No matter what I wanted, Trish dragged me out. She’s mean and heartless,” Tara confided. Faith vaguely remembered Trish, who’d lugged the first aid kit into the living room the night before.

“You ain’t got bruises or nothin’. I think you’re lying, T.” She jiggled her shoulder and gave Tara the Evil Eye. “That ain’t nice.”

“No.” Heaving a theatrical sigh, Tara mumbled, “But I didn’t think Trish was very nice at the time. Do you have any idea how miserable it is to go places and have people stare at you because you stutter? Or because you’re wearing a Dominant marker but you can’t manage to come out from under your hair?”

Wrapping her arm around Tara, Faith said stoutly, “Morons.”

“That’s what Trish said, too.” Tara peeked up at Faith, eyes twinkling. “She wasn’t as polite, though.”

“I got manners.” Faith kept her expression blank with effort as Tara began giggling madly. “Trish get you to join the Council, too? Or did ya’ do that on your own?” If it was Trish… Faith would have a few words with her when she came home from Monica’s.

Tara was silent for a long time. So long that Faith saw Trish’s house up ahead. So long she worried she’d somehow upset Tara with her question.

“Trish had nothing to do with it,” Tara finally answered. “I joined so I could be with you.”

Proving that the good people of Sunnydale weren’t the only morons, Faith immediately said, “Dumbest thing you ever done.”

For a second, Faith thought she’d crossed another line. Tara stiffened and she glared up at Faith. Then her expression softened. “Not dumb. I was afraid – and it cost me. By the time I stopped being a coward and took the Trial, Wes was there. I saw the way he treated you. I should have stepped in and told him to back off. I didn’t, and it cost _you_. I’m so very sorry for not protecting you, Faith.”

Damned if Tara didn’t _look_ sorry, all big eyes welling with tears. Faith shook her head. Crazy. “You can’t protect me, T.”

“I can, and I will.” Tara was all fierce and Dominant as she stood on Trish’s front porch. “I came out of hiding for you, Faith. And I learned I’m not as helpless as I always believed. I _will_ protect you. I promise.” With her vow hanging in the air between them, Tara turned away and unlocked the door.

Faith followed numbly. No one had ever protected her. The thought of shy Tara standing up to Wes in the House library came to mind. Faith hadn’t been paying attention then. She hadn’t realized. Tara had already taken on the Council.

For her. Tara had done it for her. Faith’s insides trembled. “Why?”

“Because you’re worth it.” Tara said it as if it was the truth. As if she didn’t even have to think about the answer.

The trembling inside grew until Faith couldn’t breathe.

“The Bengay’s in the bathroom, sweetie. Go and get it. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” Tara gently pushed Faith toward the hallway. “I’ll bring snacks for a hungry Slayer and drinks.”

When Faith didn’t move, standing there nearly hyperventilating from the emotions roiling inside, Tara came closer. “Faith. Go. Now!”

And Faith went. Blindly. Mindlessly. She stumbled to the tiny guest bathroom and shoved pill bottles and extra toothbrushes out of the way until she found the brand new tube of cream. Gripping the tube, she spun and started for the bedroom. Halfway there, reality crashed back in. What was she doing? Tara didn’t get to boss her around!

“Faith?” Tara popped out of the bedroom a few feet away. Her shirt was unbuttoned, and it hung open in front.

The hint of pale skin was enough to derail Faith’s righteous anger. “Thought you were getting’ food,” she said stupidly.

Tara regarded her solemnly. “I brought every chip, cookie, and leftover in the house. You were gone a long time. I thought I might have to send a rescue party. Did the Bengay fight back?” Still watching Faith, she took a step into the bedroom. “Do I need to teach it a lesson? I’m a karate student now; I know two whole punches.”

It was enough to pull a laugh from Faith. “Power down, killer. The Bengay was Slayed. You don’t have to kill it again. Lose the clothes and get your ass on the bed.” With a growl, Faith stalked toward Tara, chasing her back into the bedroom. With a flick of her wrist, she closed and locked the door. Trish might just come home – and Faith wasn’t sharing Tara with an audience.

Unfortunately, Tara wasn’t sharing her body with Faith. She stood in the middle of the room, hands twisting at her waist. Her shirt – and all the rest of her clothes – were still on.

“Gonna be hard to work on those baby muscles of yours through the clothes.” Tossing the tube onto the bed, Faith reached for Tara’s shirt. “Or maybe them muscles is already so tight you can’t move?” The shirt slithered to the ground with a touch. Damn, but Tara was hot. Soft white skin with a hint of freckles on one shoulder. Faith kneaded Tara’s neck with one hand, noting the knotted muscles. “Hey, you been hurtin’ like that since we left the dojo? Come on. Stop pretending to be a statue and get naked.”

Tara shuddered at that, and Faith realized she was going to have to do all the work. Dominants. First they tell you to grab some cream from the bathroom and then they made you strip them, too. Whatever. Stepping in front of Tara, Faith gripped the buckle on Tara’s worn leather belt. The metal clinked as she slipped the tongue free. Then the button slipped through the buttonhole, and Faith lowered the zipper.

Tremors worked their way through Tara. Faith smirked. There were very few Dominants who withstood her skills. Tara was in for a treat. Planning to taunt Tara – just a bit – Faith glanced up and saw the brutal way Tara gnawed at her lip. Saw the bright, painful blush.

The taunt withered and died, unspoken. “Hey, don’t freak,” Faith mumbled uneasily. She hadn’t _hurt_ Tara, had she? Or did Tara not want Faith to touch her? She’d never had any complaints before. “T?”

“I’m fine, sweetie.” It was a lie. Faith was a liar from way back, and she absolutely _knew_ Tara wasn’t telling her the truth. Tara knew it, too. She groaned and closed her eyes. “OK. I’m not fine. I’m completely mortified.” Faith believed it. Tara’s hands were fisted, and they rose and fell in front of her body.

Tara was a fucking loon. A really cute (and sexy) loon. “If ya’ want, I’ll get naked, too,” Faith offered. “I mean, it ain’t like you had me strung up and cut my clothes off or nothin’, right?” The joke fell flat. Tara didn’t relax. At all. Faith tried again. “I’ll close my eyes and you can lay down. Even keep your pants on if you want.” Stepping back, she closed her eyes. “I’m not lookin’.”

Something dropped to the floor before a rustle and squeak announced Tara had lain down. “I’m ready.”

Faith looked. Tara’s shirt and bra puddled on the floor. Tara was huddled, face down, on the bed with her head turned away. Shy was an understatement. Faith didn’t understand that. Of course, she’d slept with half of Boston by the time she was ten. Whores didn’t have the luxury of being shy about anything. “Let me make you feel good,” she murmured. The way she’d said a million times before.

But this time, there were no shouted commands or slaps. No whips or belts. Just one blushing witch who glanced at Faith and then buried her face in her arms. This time, it was just Tara. Faith picked up the pain reliever and squirted a fat glob of cream between Tara’s shoulder blades. It must have been cold. Tara hissed and twitched; Faith twitched, too, as the familiar smell reached out and made her eyes water and her nose burn.

She ignored that. Climbing on the bed, she gently straddled Tara’s hips and smoothed the cream over Tara’s back. Soft. So fucking soft. Her fingers pushed and pulled, stroked and pressed. Faith had plenty of experience with sore muscles. She hunted out each and every one of Tara’s knots and worked on them until Tara whimpered and moaned. Until the knots loosened.

Until Tara apparently forgot to be embarrassed and blinked sleepily up at Faith. Soft, deep, endless blue. Faith kept up her massage far past any real usefulness. She just stroked up and down Tara’s spine until Tara’s eyes fluttered closed. “Looks like I got something else I’m good at, T,” Faith whispered. “I fucking rock at massages.” With slow, careful movements, she got off the bed and pulled Tara’s shirt off the floor to cover the sleeping woman. As she dragged the shirt over Tara, she spotted a collection of thin white marks on Tara’s back. They’d been hidden beneath the waistband of Tara’s jeans as Faith straddled her.

Faith snuck a glance at Tara. Sound asleep. She’d never know. Feeling like she was breaking one more rule, Faith pulled Tara’s jeans down an inch.

The marks were scars. Old and white with age, they clustered over Tara’s lower back and butt. Whip scars. Faith shook her head. No way. No way would a Dominant allow _anyone_ to use a whip on them so heavily it left permanent marks. But Tara had them in spades.

Someone had hurt Tara – and Faith wanted to know who and why.

 

 

 


	45. Chapter 45

She’d fallen asleep. Tara banged her head into the mattress in a completely useless display of temper. How could she have done that? Faith had to think she was an idiot. Pushing off the bed, Tara checked the clock. Good. She hadn’t managed to sleep the day away. It had only been a power nap. With quick movements, she pulled on her discarded bra and shirt. The smell of Bengay filled the room, but Tara still thought she detected a hint of Faith’s familiar scent. It would be so easy to get used to that. To believe Faith would eventually accept the bond. Closing her eyes, Tara tried to imagine that day.

Would they live here? Four women sharing a tiny house?

No. Tara didn’t want to share Faith. And sharing was inevitable here. Someplace else. Her salary from the Council might be enough to get them a house similar to this. They could come home from a night on patrol, and she could return the favor. Work massage magic on Faith’s sore muscles and bruises. And when Faith was as relaxed and helpless as Tara had been a few minutes ago, Tara could slip a blindfold over Faith’s eyes and start a massage of another kind…

Except there might be a problem with her fantasy when Faith repudiated the bond and walked away.

Faith had shown her a glimpse of what it might be like when she’d dropped to her knees on the sidewalk. When she’d blossomed under Tara’s command. Tara had no illusions, though. Faith hadn’t miraculously accepted the bond. Not yet. Tara hadn’t found the key to unlocking Faith’s heart and submission. Tara would keep trying. Right up to the bitter end. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, Tara opened the bedroom door and marched into the living room.

All three of her housemates were in residence. Faith sat in Trish’s recliner, arms crossed and eyes glued to her lap. Trish and Maxie curled together on the couch. Both watched Faith like a bug under a microscope.

At least there were no broken tables, and no one sported new bruises. Tara stayed positive. “I see Monica didn’t lock you in Drew’s cage, Trish. You must have been on your best behavior.” It was an old joke. Maxie loved to tell the story of when Trish had gotten drunk and pushed the ever-mercurial Monica right over the edge.

“Maxie wouldn’t let me brat.” Trish glanced up. Her grin was forced. So was her tone.

Tara sighed internally and put her hands on her hips. See? Her pose said. I’m fine. Damned Dominants. They were always so disbelieving. So convinced everyone needed their help and protection. “Maxie’s a brute,” Tara agreed.

“Hey!” The brute in question wiggled her way off Trish’s lap. “I’ll have you know I’m a very generous and kind bondmate. I _never_ threatened to paddle Trish if she kept poking at Monica.”

“If you had, little girl, there might have been a paddle involved.” Trish pulled Maxie back down and wrapped her arms around Maxie’s stomach. “But you wouldn’t have been holding it.” Ignoring Maxie’s grumble – at her “capture” or the veiled threat, Tara wasn’t sure, Trish said, “I asked Faith what you did today.”

Fantastic. “Did she tell you to mind your own business?” Trish was a meddling pain in the butt.

“Nope.” Trish shook her head. “She’s less chatty than you, Tar.”

“Well, one chatterbox in the house is enough.” With a wink at Maxie, Tara dropped onto the unoccupied end of the couch and grabbed the remote. Maybe she could avoid more of Trish’s Inquisition by turning on the news or Wheel of Submission. The television sprang on, the volume shockingly loud. Tara turned it down and flicked through the channels.

The entire time, she could feel Trish watching her. Faith, too.

“We had some guests while you and Faith were in the bedroom.” Tara thought about turning the volume back up as Trish spoke. Before she could make a decision, though, it was too late. Trish continued. “A British man and a Slayer.”

“Mr. Giles and Buffy?” Hope was apparently eternal. Or had Tara finally gotten her head buried deep enough in the sand to avoid reality? An old Cary Grant movie came on, and Tara stopped channel surfing. She’d always loved this movie. Always thought it was romantic, the way he’d chased after his bondmate even though she thought he was a murderer. Now it was just a little too much like her real life.

Tara needed more sand if she wanted to pretend life was good and perfect. Especially once Trish resumed talking. “I met Buffy at the Winter Social. This was a different Slayer. She said her name was Kendra. And the Watcher with her wasn’t the older guy from the House.” Trish turned so that she and Maxie leaned against the arm of the couch.

Trish’s neck had probably hurt from craning around to stare, Tara thought waspishly, noting the change in position.

“Watcher Wes.” Faith closed up the recliner and stood in one fluid movement. Going to the window, she peered out a tiny gap in the tightly closed curtains. “He’s across the street.”

Just perfect. Tara thought longingly of the bed and another nap. Even just pulling the covers over her head (since sand was in short supply) would work. What was _wrong_ with Wes and the Council? Faith no longer even worked for them. Did they treat _all_ Slayers this way? “He can stay there forever, for all I care,” she snapped. “As long as no one invites him in, he’ll never make it over the doorstep. I warded the house.”

“We got in just fine.” Maxie looked at Tara with wide eyes. “What’s a warding? That’s magic, right? What would happen if this Wes guy tried to get in?”

“It was magic.” Tara didn’t go into more detail. Maxie could pester her until the end of time, but Tara wasn’t giving a workshop on Magic 101 today. She needed to save her energy for finding a way to get Wes to back off. “What did Wes say when he came to the door?”

Settling her chin on Maxie’s shoulder, Trish said softly, “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Don’t push, Trish. Just tell me what he said.” Sudden, mind-numbing exhaustion and despair stole Tara’s patience.

“He asked if you and Faith were here.” Trish’s eyes were intent. “He said I needed to know the Slayers Council considered Faith a dangerous criminal and that Maxie and I were in danger. He offered to protect us by taking Faith into custody.”

Tara longed to sink through the cushions. It hurt to breathe. Dangerous criminal. Getting up, she moved closer to Faith, needing the proximity. Needing to prove that Faith was still there. Needing to prove to everyone that she would stand between Faith and the Council.

“He knew who we were, Tar. He called us by name. And when I told him I wasn’t turning Faith over, he said the Council could consider us accessories because we harbored a fugitive.” No wonder Trish had been staring at Faith. She probably wondered just who and what Tara had brought into her home.

“He ain’t goin’ away.” Faith shoved the curtain back into place and spun to face the room. Tara saw the familiar scowl on her face.

She was probably right. The question was: how did they _make_ him go away? Tara knew they couldn’t hide in the house forever. And her assertion that Wes wouldn’t try to take Faith on the street wouldn’t be true forever. If Tara didn’t hand Faith over, Wes would eventually decide to make his move. And that might – probably would - put Trish and Maxie right in the middle of the fight.

A little of Faith’s unhappy expression crept onto Tara’s face. She wasn’t putting Trish and Maxie in danger.

“They really are bonded, Trish. Look!” Maxie waved her hands. “The Grumpy Girls. The not-so-funny sequel to the Golden Girls. Just because some Council guy’s camped out in the street, waiting to arrest you or whatever is no reason to forget this is your honeymoon. Make him wait in the cold while you spend all your time in bed. Trish and I’ll put cotton in our ears.”

Before Tara could decide between laughter or growling, Faith took a step toward Maxie and snapped, “We ain’t bonded!”

Maxie shrank back at the aggressive response.

Thing were getting out of hand. “We _are_ bonded.” All of Tara’s frustration tried to squeeze into those three little words. Her pain waited for the follow up. “But Faith isn’t sure she wants to stay with me.” For once, Tara was glad that Faith didn’t want Tara utilizing their bond. Closing their link meant Tara could lock her emotions away. Faith didn’t deserve to feel Tara’s bone-deep grief at Faith’s rejection. “Until,” Tara carefully avoided a more realistic “when”, “Faith formally repudiates the bond, I need to find a way to get the Council to back off.”

Faith’s next step was toward Tara. She was not happy with talk of the bond apparently.

Too bad. Tara couldn’t…well, _wouldn’t_ force the bond on Faith. But she absolutely _would_ fulfill her duties as Faith’s Dominant whether Faith liked it or not. “Trish, I need your expertise and connections.”

“You’ve got them.” Trish pushed Maxie off her lap and straightened, her expression hardening. “I’ve already made some calls. That Wes guy…”

That “Wes guy” was a problem. “When he was here this morning, he said he had a warrant for Faith’s arrest. Faith doesn’t work for the Council anymore. How can he have a warrant?” _Please_ , Tara begged silently. _Please tell me he lied._

“The Council doesn’t always follow the same laws as the rest of us.” Trish’s words ripped away the last of Tara’s hope. “Because Slayers have all those cool abilities, Council law – and local law backs it up – has the right to govern and control any active Slayer, regardless of occupation or location. If Wes really has a warrant, it’s valid.”

“And the fact Faith is bonded?” Tara was getting better at ignoring Faith’s blistering glare.

“That’s tricky.” Grabbing her backpack from its place by the front door, Trish pulled out a spiral notebook. “The case law seems to be on your side. There was a 1974 case, _Marianne Hollister versus Thomas Lassiter, The Slayers Council, et al._ The decision favored the Dominant’s rights over the Council’s when it came to caring for her Slayer submissive.”

It couldn’t be that easy. Tara knew better. “But?”

“But the Slayer in the case hadn’t been suspected of killing a human.” Trish grimaced. “Nor did she have a discipline record with the Council. This was a case of who got to decide where the Slayer lived and worked.”

“I told you,” Faith said, interrupting Tara’s burgeoning panic, “if I ain’t here, Wes’ll leave you alone.”

In perfect Dominant stereo, Trish and Tara turned on Faith. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

Faith met Trish’s glare with one of her own. With the way Tara’s day was headed, they’d probably have stayed that way in a Dominant/submissive pissing contest. Unfortunately for them both, Tara didn’t find the standoff funny. “Please sit down, Faith.” She was growing more comfortable with her Dominance every day. She no longer felt guilty about injecting the quiet snap into her voice.

It worked – after Faith spent a few seconds with her glare transferred to Tara. She had a very scary stare. Not as scary as the thought of Wes and his soldiers stealing Faith away and stripping her of her abilities. Tara kept that firmly in mind and repeated, “Please, Faith.”

With a grunt, Faith stalked back to the recliner and threw herself down. “Happy?”

“Yes, thank you,” Tara replied with a tight smile. Getting back on track, she pressed Trish for more information. “What else did you find?”

“Nothing you’re going to like. The Council had to register its warrant for Faith with Sunnydale PD. It’s public record now.” Flipping through her notebook, Trish scanned the scribbled notes. “If the Council doesn’t move on Faith, the local police might try to help. Wes wasn’t wrong, Tar. You’re an accessory, according to the law. The cops aren’t dumb enough to challenge a Slayer. You, though…”

The cops didn’t know Tara was a witch like the Council. They wouldn’t hesitate to arrest her. And, Tara admitted ruefully, she’d let them. There was a fireball spell with Wes’ name on. Perfectly normal human cops who were unfamiliar with the arcane were safe.

“I’m still looking for a loophole,” Trish continued. “Your best bet for right now is to register the bond and rush the collaring ceremony. It might be enough to get you some breathing room. The next step is putting a lawyer on retainer. One of my professor’s used to practice in New York. I’ll see if he knows anyone locally.”

Faith’s emotions blasted through the bond. Even with her end of the link shielded, Tara nearly staggered under the force. Fear. Shame. Frustration. And then, buried under the flood, a trickle of…hope? Tara wanted to reach out, physically and through the bond. She didn’t, though. Faith had been clear. She didn’t want their bond. Tara had forced the issue once. She wouldn’t do it again. “Faith hasn’t agreed to wear my collar yet,” she said softly. Faith never would. Tara thickened the lid over her conduit to Faith.

The world immediately went dead, all sound and emotion and life artificially quiet. It was as if Tara had donned earplugs, super dark sunglasses, and mittens. She hated it. The house seemed to shrink around her. Instinct demanded she pull the lid off. “I can’t afford a lawyer,” Tara told Trish. “I’ll just have to convince the Council to leave Faith alone by myself.”

“What are ya’ gonna do?” Faith demanded. She stormed across the room and stood aggressively close to Tara. “It don’t matter how much mojo you got, T. You can’t take on the whole fucking Council.”

If that’s what it took…

Before Tara could say that out loud, Faith continued. Her voice lost a little of its edge, the anger eclipsed with a world-weary acceptance. “I shoulda left town while I had the chance. Now it’s too late. Let Wes have me. I ain’t worth you endin’ up in jail.”

In the back of her mind, Tara wondered if steam was actually pouring from her ears. She certainly felt like a cartoon character about to blow. What was _wrong_ with Faith? How could she think, for even a second, that Tara would step aside and let her walk into the waiting arms of Wes and the Council? Throttling back the desire to lash out, Tara murmured through stiff lips, “I believe we had this conversation earlier today. You _will not_ ,” satisfaction coiled when Faith flinched at the bite in the words, “speak of yourself that way. Since I have not managed to teach that lesson successfully, let’s try something new.”

What, though? Tara confronted that dilemma. The way Faith’s expression turned sullen and her arms crossed over her chest helped Tara decide. Nothing physical. Nothing that would give Faith the chance to use pain, real pain, as a barrier to learning and accepting. “Come here, sweetie.” Softening her tone, Tara held out her hand. This was their “thing.” And she’d nearly ruined it by losing her temper. Faith hesitated, not moving an inch.

Tara closed the gap. “It will be OK, Faith. I promise. Please come here.” She was close enough that her outstretched hand nearly touched Faith’s folded arms. Now she waited. Faith had to cross that final inch on her own. Obedience was a decision.

Slowly, Faith’s arms relaxed. Tara held her breath and sensed Maxie and Trish had turned to stone behind her. No one moved except Faith. Finally her fingers touched Tara’s hand, slight tremors apparent from the contact. Faith was still poised to pull away.

“Good girl, my Faith.” Tara put all her growing respect and love for Faith into that phrase – and saw Faith’s shy grin appear for a split second. Entwining their fingers, Tara compelled Faith across the living room to The Corner. The only place in the cluttered room without furniture. When they stood in front of the bare space, Tara pulled Faith in front of her and wrapped her arms around her.

The contact was nearly her undoing. Faith was so warm and solid. Tara closed her eyes for a second, soaking up the sensation. It turned her next command into a husky entreaty. “Please kneel facing the wall, Faith.”

She failed miserably at getting Faith to obey – and Tara couldn’t fail. Not at this. Faith was her bondmate. Her world. Faith _needed_ Tara to win this contest of wills, whether Faith would admit that or not.

Centering as if she were preparing to cast a spell helped Tara push her doubts and fears aside. Everything except Faith and Tara’s desire to protect and guide her faded into the background. Tara released Faith’s hands. She didn’t end their physical contact, though. With light touches, she stroked Faith’s arms and shoulders. Met her eyes – and saw the confusion and buried fear. “It will be alright, my Slayer. I promise.” Tara knew Faith wouldn’t believe that. It was too soon. “Kneel.” She kept her tone soft and merely rested her hands on Faith’s shoulders. Kneeling was Faith’s choice. Her obedience freely (if reluctantly) given. Not even a submissive relished true punishment, and Faith didn’t know what Tara might do to her. “Faith.” Tara steeled herself. Failure wasn’t an option. This time, even she heard the coiled power of command as she added a final, “Kneel now, please.”

Little by little, Faith’s knees bent.

Tara encouraged her the entire way. “Thank you, Faith.” She combed her fingers through Faith’s hair. When Faith wavered, Tara whispered, “You’re doing fine, sweetie. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

The bond exploded with Faith’s emotions. No matter how many times Tara tightened the lid, Faith’s emotions leaked (or in this case flooded) through. Tara welcomed them – but did not reciprocate. She was well trained and able to keep her feelings hidden behind the barrier. That barrier would remain until Faith asked her to remove it. The wild rush of fear, anger, and self-hatred filled Tara. She ached for Faith. She ached yet knew Faith had to understand that submitting didn’t lead to crippling pain and mental, physical, or emotional abuse. When Faith finally knelt on the floor, Tara rewarded her with a soft kiss to the back of Faith’s neck.

The response was immediate. Faith shivered and her head dropped forward. The waves of emotion slowed and pleasure floated through the link like a tiny piece of driftwood. Tara left one hand on Faith’s shoulder. Contact was the key. She couldn’t leave Faith alone. The other hand dug through her pants pocket for a coin.

“I would like you to hold this quarter against the wall with your nose, Faith.” Tara held the quarter so that it spanned the juncture of the walls where they met. Ignoring the suddenly stiff muscles under her hand, Tara continued. “Hold it and think of all the _compliments_ you’ve gotten for your actions, behaviors, and words.”


	46. Chapter 46

Tara was crazy. Faith wasn’t holding some damned quarter against the wall. Not with her hands. Sure as fuck not with her nose. Back tight with anger and humiliation, she started to stand.

“Faith.” Quiet. Determined. Impossible to ignore.

Knees glued to the floor, Faith contented herself with glaring straight ahead. If Tara wanted her to put her nose in the corner, she’d have to _make_ Faith do it. And there was no way that was happening.

A little of her certainty faded when Tara’s fingers twined into her hair. The grip was loose. It didn’t hurt, but Faith knew that was deceiving. If she tried to move, Tara might decide to tighten her grip. Hair pulling was _not_ pleasant. “You have two choices, Faith.” God, that cool tone sent chills racing over Faith’s skin. “Hold the coin or go over my knee and _then_ hold the coin.”

This time, Faith couldn’t maintain her position. She twisted around to stare at Tara in disbelief despite the way Tara held onto her hair. It was only hair. It would grow back. Faith had to make sure Tara, gentle Tara, hadn’t been kidnapped by body snatchers.

It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. Tara’s stony expression was so unlike her usual calm look. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile. And her eyes. They were dark and stormy. Tara was seriously unhappy. Faith thought for a minute she was going to be sick. Her stomach twisted and her chest felt like Buffy had punched her. Inch by tiny inch, she crept closer to the corner, driven by Tara’s unhappiness. She stopped when her knees touched the walls on either “side” of the corner.

A soft hand touched her head. Lips pressed to the back of her neck. “Such a good girl, my Faith.” Tara moved past Faith and held the coin firmly in place. “Come here, please.”

Faith slowly (glaciers moved faster) leaned forward until her nose touched the warmed coin. The position sucked. Her back and neck protested immediately. Worse than the threat of a stiff neck was the knowledge that Tara and her friends were there, gaping at her. Faith gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Damn them all! Tara was just like all the other Dominants. Arrogant and so convinced Faith needed to change.

_“You cannot continue to break curfew, Faith. It’s there for a reason.” Diana was out of town; another Watcher had stepped in to “watch” Faith. Like she was a fucking dog or little kid who needed a keeper. His hands were gentle but firm as he bent her over the bench and locked her wrists into the cuffs._

_Gentle. The prick could afford to be gentle. Faith stood no chance at getting away from him. The door was locked from the outside and guards stood on both sides of the door. The required witnesses sat on the other side of the one-way glass wall._

“You don’t look like you’re remembering any compliments,” Tara said, breaking into Faith’s memories. Her hands massaged Faith’s shoulders. “Unless hearing good things about yourself makes you grumpy and tense.”

If turning her head and snarling wouldn’t have sent the coin clattering to the floor, Faith would have told Tara just how grumpy she was.

Tara, damn her, was too smart for Faith’s good. One of her hands landed with a pop on the seat of Faith’s jeans. It was all noise and no oomph. “What are you supposed to be doing in the corner, Faith?”

"Holding the fucking quarter to the wall,” Faith snapped.

She expected another pop to the ass for her less than polite tone. A shouted command at the very least. Faith really wasn’t anticipating Tara to _praise_ her. “Exactly. Hold the quarter and do what, sweetie?”

It had been much easier to snap and growl at Tara. Actually answering her question… “Thinkin’ about complements,” Faith finally muttered. Which would take all of two seconds. People didn’t hand out compliments when Faith was around. Complaints, yes. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and pressed her nose more tightly to the coin.

Tara resumed massaging Faith’s shoulders.

Think about compliments. Think about compliments. Faith’s mind was one hundred percent blank. Some mind-sucking demon had eaten every single thought. There was nothing but air between her ears.

Luck for Faith, there was far more than air _outside_ her ears. There were two warm hands on her shoulders and a soft voice whispering encouragement. Little by little, her thoughts returned.

_“Hey, that was awesome! How’d you do that?” Eyes wide, Treva watched Faith pocket the credit card she’d lifted from Diana’s wallet earlier in the day. “I thought that only worked in the movies.”_

_Faith rolled her eyes and pushed the now unlocked door open. Freedom beckoned. “Where d’ya think they got the idea? Works every time.”_

Lock picking wasn’t sanctioned by the Council (or most law abiding people). But Faith counted Treva’s comment as a compliment. The tiny success made holding the quarter against the wall easier. With a sigh, Faith let the warmth of Tara’s hands soak into her.

“I knew you could do it, sweetie. I bet you have so many memories to choose from,” Tara murmured. So softly Faith figured the duo on the couch couldn’t hear. It was like Faith and Tara were alone.

_The House was freakishly quiet. Faith scowled, the only sounds her pencil scratching over notebook paper and the slight swishing of Willow’s waving feet as she waited for Faith to finish the math problem. “Here.” With a last, angry scrawl, Faith completed the Algebra problem and shoved the notebook over to Willow._

_“Already? Really?” Willow chirped in that irritatingly happy voice that drove Faith over the edge._

_She had to bite back a sarcastic response. Of course Faith was finished. Willow could see her working on the problem. Why the Hell else would Faith give her the notebook?_

_Seconds later, Willow tossed the notebook back. “You don’t need me to tutor you, Faith. It’s right. **All** of those problems are right. Giles thinks you’re like Buffy, but you aren’t. If you’d stop stomping around and pretending to be stupid, I bet you could step in and show Buffy a thing or two about math.”_

Lips quirking, Faith tried to imagine offering to tutor Buffy. Her eyes would bug out of her head. Buffy was convinced being a Slayer was the only reason she wasn’t as smart as Willow. Faith knew the truth. Buffy hated to study – and she might have used a tad too much bleach over the years. That shit caused brain damage if it soaked through your scalp.

To be fair, though…Buffy wasn’t always a dumb blonde.

_“You did good, Faith. Giles said Kakistos is one of the most powerful vamps ever.” She picked up Faith’s duffel bag. “You were right to come here. We can help.” Her grin was bright and challenging, and Faith’s chin snapped up in response. “Want to show me how they stake vampires in Boston?”_

How had she forgotten that? Buffy and Giles had been awesome when she’d rolled into town with Kakistos on her heels.

“Lean back, sweetie.” Tara’s voice somehow blended with the sudden calm stealing through Faith. Following the request, Faith knelt upright and watched the coin drop to the floor. “You did an excellent job.” There was the hint of laughter running through the words. “Still think I should open the door and shove you into the Council’s waiting arms?”

“Bitch.” The insult lacked sting. Faith felt too good for that. Faith let Tara help her up. As Tara clutched her hand and bit her lip, Faith yawned. “You put some kinda spell on that quarter?” she teased. All she wanted to do now was curl up and sleep for a week.

Tara grinned, but it was forced. Her eyes didn’t sparkle. Her gaze stayed sharp and focused. “I’m not admitting to anything.” Walking backward, she drew Faith toward the recliner. “But it’s fine if you want to nap. I won’t be terribly offended. I mean, it’s not a reflection of how little you think of me.”

There was something wrong with that statement. Faith’s mind was simply too…disconnected to make sense of it. Her thoughts and emotions floated like clouds – with just as much substance. “’k.”

“Get comfortable.” Tara was right there as Faith sank into the recliner. She unlaced and pulled off Faith’s boots. Faith could have done it. She wasn’t a baby. But Tara didn’t ask. Tara just did. It wasn’t worth the effort to complain. In fact, it was kind of nice. Faith curled up in the battered chair and let Tara cover her with the crocheted blanket. Another yawn nearly split her head. “Sleep, Faith. I’ll…We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

***

“Thad’s on leave, you know. He and Curtis haven’t visited since Thad got his silver leaf.” The words didn’t make sense as Faith slowly woke up.

“Maxie.” Tara’s exasperation was clear in the rise and fall of individual syllables in Maxie’s name. “Do not tell your brother to come out here with his Marine friends. We are _not_ starting a war with the Council.”

Actually, they were. Faith kept her eyes closed and didn’t move. She was still warm and comfortable, wrapped in a cloak of calm. She knew if she moved or otherwise let Tara know she was awake, that would change.

“He wouldn’t drive a tank down Main Street, Tar.” Maxie sounded sullen. Poor baby, Faith thought. Offer to help and get kicked in the teeth. Trish and Tara were no fun.

Faith almost snickered at the image Maxie created, though. Wes would wet himself if Tara came after him in a tank. Then she sobered. If Trish had been correct earlier, that tank might be the only way Faith stayed out of the Council’s hands. Wes had a warrant, and Tara was full of shit if she still thought the Council would leave them alone.

“Let me call my professor.” Trish spoke next, pleading mixed with a hint of Dominance. Did she think Tara would fall for that? What a moron. Faith rolled her eyes beneath their lids. “There are plenty of lawyers who do _pro bono_ work. And let’s be honest. There are a whole lot of people who don’t like the Council. I mean, taking kids away from their parents, training them to be killers. Maybe the ADsRU? They’re the best at defending submissive rights.”

The American Dominant/submissive Rights Union? That was a whole lot of trouble. For Faith. Faith wrestled with that concept. Tara had made her point earlier; Faith understood (sort of) that she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. The scramble to protect Faith, though… That had to be the bond. Faith felt her muscles quiver; the lassitude fleeing. Faith and Tara were bonded. She’d never give Faith up to the Council. She’d never give Faith up, period.

As if her thoughts had broadcast to the entire room, Maxie said, “You need to register the bond. Trish is right. If you collar Faith, the Council might back off. It’s the best option you have unless you want Thad to bring that tank.”

“I won’t force Faith into something she doesn’t want,” Tara responded so softly Faith wondered if Tara had spoken or if she was hearing an echo of Tara’s thoughts. The link was still tightly closed off, though. “Sh-she doesn’t want m-me.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Faith could imagine Trish and Maxie staring at each other, trying to think of something to say.

“Then Faith’s an idiot.” Maxie yelped a second later, hard on the heels of a smack. “I’m right, Trish. You know I’m right. Tara’s sweet and pretty. And anyone can see how much she _wants_ Faith as her bondmate.”

“We’ve been over this, little girl. It doesn’t matter what you think.” Frustration laced Trish’s comment. “Faith and Tara have to decide _together_ how their dynamic will work. Or won’t work.”

Good advice. Maxie should mind her own fucking business because Faith’s bond with Tara would never work. Shivering suddenly, Faith clutched the blanket a little more tightly around her body.

“It sucks. There has to be something more we can do. Tara? Do you want me to talk to Faith?” Maxie was as bad as Willow. She didn’t know when to shut up. What was she going to tell Faith that she didn’t already know? That Tara was beautiful and nice? Not a newsflash. “If I explained the way the bond works? Or that having a Dominant isn’t a bad thing?”

Faith wanted to jump up and gag Maxie.

Trish stopped the irritating comments first. “That’s enough, Max.”

Actually, Trish only _attempted_ to quiet Maxie. Maxie ignored the order. “No one’s sure they want the bond when it first happens. I was scared to death. I mean, there was this _girl_ in my head, and she kept telling me what to do.” Exactly the problem, Faith wanted to say. “Then I stopped freaking out. And look what it got me?”

“Before you ruin the moment, little girl, I promised you something special.” There was a rustle and the smack of a hand – probably Trish’s – on what had to be Maxie’s ass. “Get moving.”

Footsteps sounded and then faded away. A door closed with a resolute bang.

“She’s right, you know.” Trish was more sympathetic than Maxie. Faith huddled in the chair, the blanket weighing her down as Trish continued. “Faith’s a fool not to want you, but I get it. I do. Whatever we can do to make this easier for you both.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” There was no life in Tara’s voice. “But thanks, Trish. Now go. Be with Maxie. She’s been pushing and prodding at you all afternoon. I’ve known you long enough. If you don’t get in there soon, she’ll be tying the sleeves on your blouses together again.”

Trish laughed. “She better not. Just in case…” Faith listened to Trish hum for a few seconds before the closing door cut off the melody.

Faith opened her eyes a crack. Tara sat on the floor in front of the couch. More slumped than sat. She stared at the black leather cuff on her left wrist. _She doesn’t want me_ , she’d told Trish and Maxie. It was true. To an extent. Watching Tara, Faith admitted (reluctantly and only in the deepest recesses of her mind) that she _did_ want Tara. Hell, she’d grappled with that thought since their tryst at the apartment. It was the bond that scared her. The bond gave Tara access to thoughts and emotions Faith never, ever wanted to share.

She should tell Tara that she intended to repudiate the bond.

She should, but… Maybe tomorrow. Tara already seemed worn down and ready to break. Maxie had been right. Anyone, even Faith, could see how much Tara wanted the bond. Hearing Faith announce she was ending their relationship… Faith couldn’t do that now. “Hey.”

Tara flinched and then tried to mask her instinctive recoil.

What the Hell? “I ain’t gonna slug you,” Faith said. She raised her hands in a show of surrender. “Too far away. Besides, I figure you’d fry me before I got outta the chair.”

Faith hated the way Tara’s lips twisted into a fake smile. Hated the stilted cadence of her reply. “Noreen’s the firestarter, sweetie, remember?”

“Yeah.” The recliner suddenly threatened to swallow Faith. Or maybe it was guilt that wrapped around Faith so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Somehow, Faith knew she was the reason Tara had to hide her real emotions. Pretend to be happy. Faith missed Tara’s _real_ smile. How did she get it back? Climbing out of the chair, Faith stretched and continued to watch Tara. “Guess you didn’t…”

The unmistakable slap of wood meeting flesh cut Faith off. She froze – and saw Tara do the same.

When Tara snapped back into motion, she moved almost as fast as a Slayer. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Voices exploded through the living room as she viciously stabbed one of the buttons, raising the volume. It was so loud even Faith barely heard the paddling still going on in the back of the house.

Faith frowned. That was twice she’d seen Tara react to a punishment. She’d dragged Faith out of the House kitchen when Janna had upended Willow. And now they both might go deaf as Tara tried to drown out the Trish and Maxie Show. Faith _knew_ why _she_ didn’t want to see or hear someone on the receiving end of a paddle or worse. But Tara? Didn’t Dominants get off on that? Arrogant bastards who held all the power.

Except Tara wasn’t arrogant. Not to mention she appeared ready to come out of her skin at the moment. Maybe that was the reason Faith’s mouth moved before her brain engaged. “You got a new cuff for me?” The question somehow overrode the annoying talk show blaring through the living room. It ricocheted in Faith’s head, each concussive change of direction building on the other until her brain rang. What the fuck was she doing? She didn’t want a new cuff. Especially not from Tara, who’d think Faith had changed her mind about the bond.

Liar, a tiny voice mocked. Of course the voice was quiet, and Faith easily ignored it. She was too busy trying to find a way to take back her crazy question to pay attention to one little voice.

Tara couldn’t seem to grasp _any_ voices. She stared at Faith and mumbled. “What? I d-don’t… Cuff?”

It would be easy to turn this around. To pretend Faith had been joking or that she _hadn’t_ asked Tara about a new cuff. Faith didn’t. Something kept the lie bottled up inside. Instead, she shrugged and dropped her eyes. “You know I ain’t stayin’ bonded, right?” Faith had to press the point yet she couldn’t look at Tara as she asked the question. Not when Faith knew Tara wouldn’t want to answer.

“Yes.” God, Tara sounded so sad. Faith wished the TV was even louder so that she hadn’t heard that whisper.

“I was thinkin’, though…” Feet shuffling restlessly, Faith said, “Do ya’ think me wearin’ a black cuff would make the Council leave you alone?” When Tara didn’t answer, Faith dragged her gaze away from the carpet. Tara had turned away. She stood completely still with her back to Faith. “T? Hey, if ya’ don’t think it’ll help, we don’t have to do it.”

“No.” Tara’s response was sharp and Faith saw her stiffen. When she spoke again, she sounded closer to normal: calm and collected. “It’s a good idea. Trish said the Council and the police might give us time if we formalized the bond.” Tara slowly turned, and Faith shivered. There was a brittle quality to Tara’s posture. A strange brightness to her eyes. Was the stress of the whole situation getting to be too much for her? “Are you very sure, though, Faith? If I claim you,” was Tara’s voice shaking, Faith wondered, “we have to register the bond. It will be more complicated to repudiate me later.”

Faith almost protested. She wasn’t repudiating _Tara_ , damn it. Just the bond. She didn’t. Tara probably hadn’t meant to put it like that. “It ain’t like it’s forever, T. It’s just a cuff, not a collar.”

With a nod, Tara agreed. “Just a cuff,” she repeated.

“You want to do it now?” The decision made, Faith was ready to get on with it. She stripped her brown leather cuff off and tossed it onto the couch. Her wrist felt weird without the binding. Light. The air cooled the naked skin. She rubbed it absently and waited for Tara to move.

Tara finally took a few steps – over to the couch. She dropped onto it like Faith had performed a perfect leg sweep. “It’s not that easy, sweetie.”

Sure it was. Faith strode to Tara and held out her wrist. “It ain’t hard, either. Just put the new cuff on.” Why was Tara making such a big deal out of this? “You need me to go grab it or something?” Hell, Faith could put it on, too, if Tara couldn’t manage it.

A flush tinted Tara’s cheeks. “Faith.”

“Ta-ra,” Faith mocked. She threw her hands up in the air. “Whatever. Let me know when you’re ready. Or not. We ain’t gotta do it. Just thought that’s what ya’ wanted.” Was this some of that reverse psychology crap? Did Tara think if she refused to claim Faith that Faith would suddenly remember she was dying to wear Tara’s collar?

Again imitating a Slayer with her surprising speed, Tara seized Faith’s wrist before her dramatic gesture ended. Her fingers held tightly enough that Faith thought she might have bruises later. “That is enough, Faith.” The words cracked like a whip despite being overpowered by the TV. They closed around Faith and pulled her focus to Tara. “If I claim you, we’re doing it right.” Tara never glanced away. Her eyes blazed until Faith thought she _felt_ her skin heat in response. “The Council won’t believe we’re bonded if I exchange your cuff in private. It will have to be a public ceremony, and we’ll have to register the bond as a couple.”

A little of Faith’s enthusiasm for the plan faltered. A public ceremony. People watching. Official people. Faith’s skin crawled.

_“Ms. Dormer, this is your new Slayer.” Rows of Slayers stared at Faith like she was a space alien. She sort of felt like one. The soldiers who’d dragged her out of her mother’s apartment had scrubbed her down and dressed her in brand new clothes. They were too small and weirdly stiff. The shirt collar was so tight it threatened to strangle her._

_“ **This** is a Slayer?” The old woman in the ugly skirt curled her lip at Faith. “Very well.” With a yank at the grey wool jacket she wore with her outfit, she turned to the room full of people. “This is Faith. A Slayer. Fate has Called her to join the Forces of Good. Those who daily battle the Forces of Evil.” Faith got the impression from the flat, bored tone, though, that the woman, Ms. Dormer, thought Faith might actually be fighting on the Dark Side. Not even the new clothes hid the fact that Faith didn’t belong in this huge, opulentbuilding._

And that’s what would happen if Tara did a public ceremony. People would realize that Faith didn’t belong with Tara. Tara was observing Faith closely. She’d seen Faith react. “Did you change your mind?” Tara glanced away and her lips tightened.

Damn it! Tara had no reason to be upset or whatever. Faith wasn’t backing down. “No. I’m good.”

“Just say the word, sweetie, and this all stops.” Tara the Dominant became Regular Tara so fast it took Faith’s breath away. The grip on her wrist became stroking. “Until you safeword, though, I’ll get the ball rolling.” She stepped back and picked up Faith’s cuff. “You’ll need this until the ceremony.”

The cuff felt different when Tara buckled it on. Like it didn’t fit anymore. Like the clothes from her memory, the cuff was now tight. Faith fiddled with it as Tara picked up the phone handset sitting next to the couch and dialed a number from memory. “Hello, Sue. Is Brian there?”

Who the Hell was Brian? Still trying to adjust her cuff, Faith turned down the TV. The noise was driving her crazy. While Tara talked to Sue or Brian or whoever, Faith paced. Back and forth. Once. Twice.

“Faith, would you please get Trish and Maxie?” Tara had the phone braced between her head and shoulder and clutched pen and paper in her hands. “I did mention this was going to be more complicated than just replacing your cuff.” When she continued, Faith wasn’t sure if Tara was talking to her or the person on the phone. “The Bonding Office closes in a couple of hours, remember? We don’t need flowers or matching tunics. We just need to two of us and some witnesses.”

What was she? Some fucking servant? Faith trudged through the house and rapped on Trish’s bedroom door. If she had to play fetch with Tara’s friends, there better at least be something good going on in there to interrupt. She rocked impatiently on the balls of her feet until someone moved inside.

“Tara?” Trish opened the door. She seemed surprised to see Faith standing in the hallway. “Sorry, Faith. What did you need?”

“I got no idea. The witch sent me to get ya’.” A flicker of movement inside the room caught her eye. Maxie. Naked, propped ass up over a pile of pillows, arms raised and fastened to the headboard.

Trish cleared her throat and moved so her shoulder blocked sight of Maxie. “Did your friend Wes come back? Give us a minute and we’ll be right there.” Stepping back, she shut the door.

Faith glared at the wood. What gave Trish the right to treat Maxie like that? Her hands balled into fists. She would _never_ let anyone, not even Tara, do that to her. Except…Tara already had done that. Tied her up. Taken her, and Faith had been a willing participant.

Staggering back until she pressed into the wall, Faith realized she was about to take the first step toward that giving up and giving in. First the black cuff. Then the collar. She realized she was sweating. It poured down her back and sides until her shirt clung to her torso.

Fuck. She had to pull it together. Faith was a Slayer, damn it. She faced down demons and vampires. One black leather cuff didn’t even rate.

The bedroom door flew open again and Maxie dashed out, skidding to a halt when she saw Faith. “I _told_ Trish we needed Thad. _And_ Marcus.” Her expression was fierce as she rounded on Trish, who had just exited the bedroom. “Can I call them now, oh Great Lady? Or is that gag order still in effect?”

Maxie was crazy. Faith forgot all about her cuffs and the Council and laughed.

Trish, though, sighed. “Max.”

“Sorry.” Maxie _almost_ sounded like she meant it. “Come on. Let’s go see if Tara’s willing to see reason. She can’t take on that Council guy alone.” Faith thought Maxie was ready to march across the street and give Wes a piece of her mind – if Trish wasn’t right behind her with a leash.

Maxie disappeared into the living room. Trish stayed with Faith. “She makes me tired.”

“That what ya’ call it?” Now that she was looking, Faith noticed a hickey darkening Trish’s neck above the collar of her shirt, and her hair spiked on one side (maybe someone had grabbed onto it) while the other was flat.

“Perfect. Now there are two of you.” Trish extended her hand. “At least Tara can share my pain. She always told me Maxie wasn’t so bad. She’ll change her mind when you start nagging and picking on her. I can’t wait to see it.”

Faith eyed the offered hand and then stood up using only her legs. It wasn’t much of a display of her skills, but she’d save the heavy duty stuff for later. “I don’t nag nobody.”

A squeal split the air. “Trish! Trish!” Maxie screamed from the living room. Trish actually managed to beat Faith to the rescue. “Did you hear? Did Faith tell you?” She jumped around the living room with her arms raised. “Tara’s claiming Faith and she wants us to be her witnesses.”


	47. Chapter 47

Two hours later, Tara and Faith were finally the next couple in line to register their claim. Tara watched the couple, the very happy and _demonstrative_ , couple in front of them step up to the Registrants’ Desk. Goddess, they were next. It should have made Tara happy. Unlike the pair signing the paperwork, though, neither Faith nor Tara was smiling. Trish and Maxie, Brian and Sue, and Monica and Drew were smiling from their place in the witness queue.

Tara _couldn’t_ smile. She was minutes away from lying about the most important relationship in her life. Glancing to her left, she watched Faith cross her arms defensively over her chest and glare at their crowd of well-wishers. If this bond was pure, if she and Faith were supposed to be together, Tara knew they’d be just like the couple in front of them.

The difference cut Tara to the bone. It hurt to breathe. To think. To simply exist.

Tears threatened, and Tara valiantly fought them back. Crying was common here. Boxes of facial tissues sat on every table and mirrors hung at regular intervals on the walls so prospective bondmates could repair the damage wrought by happy tears.

Tara was a fraud. But a fraud who had a show to put on. The Council had followed them into the Bond Registration Office. Two of them stood at the back, dark uniforms and weapons a sober counterpoint to the brilliant white of collaring robes and the peacock colors of witness finery. She was fairly certain one of the couples behind them belong to the Council, too. Like Tara and Faith, they were dressed in street clothes. And they, too, weren’t smiling.

She’d caught Faith restlessly scanning the room. Buffy or Kendra, maybe both, were probably here. Nothing like party crashers to make the day more special. “Ready, sweetie?” Reaching for Faith’s hand, needing the contact desperately, Tara watched the couple at the desk kiss triumphantly to the cheers of their witnesses.

“Want me to hang all over ya’ like that, too?” Were those dimples peeking out? Tara looked away from the registration desk to verify – and melted as Faith’s grin widened. “Don’t think you can carry me like that Dom up there, but I’m willin’ to try if you are, T.”

T. Tara tried not to let the everyday nickname dim the pleasure of Faith’s smile. “You never know, my Faith. I might surprise you. I did work out yesterday.”

“For, like, an hour and a half. It’s gonna take at least one more session to make ya’ as strong as that guy.” Faith reached over with her free hand and poked at Tara’s biceps. “Might be a muscle in there somewhere.”

“You are so mean.” Tara used their joined hands to pull Faith closer. “What am I going to do with you? Hmm?”

She was so close she felt Faith shiver. Heard those shivers reflect in Faith’s husky, “I keep tellin’ you. You’re the Domme, Lady Tara. You make all the decisions. Whatcha gonna do?”

A challenge. Tara forgot all about the crowd and the reason they were in line. She surged forward, seizing Faith’s lips in her own. Their hands fell apart – mostly because Tara reached up to take hold of Faith’s hair in a double-hand grip.

Faith stiffened.

Tara didn’t care. Faith was _hers_ and she’d realize that soon enough. She pulled her lips away. Mere millimeters. Her teeth scraped down Faith’s neck, shudders announcing Faith’s enjoyment of the maneuver.

“Ma’am…” a diffident voice called out.

The voice was a nuisance. Tara ignored it. Showing Faith just who was in charge was far more important. Not to mention pleasurable. She tightened her hold on Faith’s hair, needing to be even closer. Needing to feel Faith give in.

“Ma’am. I’m sorry.” The Goddess-damned voice was back, and it didn’t go away. “You’re next. If you and your submissive would like to register your bond, you’ll need to step up to the desk, please.”

Claps and cheers joined The Voice, and Tara blinked dazedly. “What?”

A harried submissive, one of the Registration Bureau clerks, bowed in her direction. “Ma’am, it’s time to register your bond,” he said diffidently but with a hint of impatience.

The bond. The bond! Sweet Goddess. She’d forgotten why they were here. She’d been so lost in Faith and that kiss. Tara felt her entire body heat, and knew she resembled an overripe tomato. Refusing to crumble under the weight of humiliation, Tara gave the clerk an imperious glare. He backed off immediately. “Let’s go, Faith.”

“Yes, Tara.” Faith’s acquiescence sent Tara soaring.

Head high, she marched up to the Registrants’ desk. “Tara Maclay,” she announced in ringing tones, “and Faith Lehane. We are here to register our bond and my claim.”

“Do you have personal witnesses or do you require them?” _This_ clerk was a Dominant and clearly unimpressed with Tara’s high and mighty demeanor. Tara decided to be equally unimpressed. Rather than answer verbally, she waved at Trish and her friends hurried forward. “The claim, since you have witnesses, is $35. The registration’s $100. Do you have validation of the bond? If not, it’s another $20 for a witch to certify you and your submissive.”

Now Tara hesitated. She’d forgotten about this part of the process. Someone had to verify the bond. Too many people, most of them Foresaken or the rare unbonded adult, tried to register false bonds. Not a problem – if some of the false bonds weren’t coerced. Dominants preying on weaker or desperate submissives. Thanks to those abusers, Tara had to prove she was truly bonded to Faith. If only they weren’t at odds with the Council, Tara would have asked Janna to do the honors. “I don’t have validation,” she told the clerk.

With practiced ease, the clerk spun in his chair and held up a blue placard, similar to an auction paddle. “Please fill out the registration forms. Your submissive will have to fill out her own form, regardless of any protocols you have in place.” He dropped two clipboards and pens onto the desk. “Fill out only the sections highlighted in yellow. Initial at the bottom of each page and then sign on the final page next to the ‘x’. You must use full, legal names for all entries and signatures.” The words were fast and delivered with no intonation. The clerk might as well have been a robot.

Tara picked up the clipboards and turned to Faith. The flush of desire had faded. Faith eyed the crowded room before staring at the exit. Great. If they didn’t hurry, Tara might not have to worry about forms and other witches. “Here, sweetie. Fill this out, please.” She thrust the clipboard at Faith and prayed to the Goddess for Faith to obey.

Her prayers were answered. Faith took the pen from its holder and began scribbling information. Tara followed suit. It was a standard form. Name. Address. Phone number. Disclaimers about bonds not being under the direct control or influence of the government with an addendum advising the registrant that the government took no responsibility for the success or failure of any bond. A list of fees. Tara checked the relevant ones and then quickly wrote a check for the required amount and signed and initialed a dizzying number of pages. It was a wonder anyone made it to the claiming or collaring.

The clerk took their clipboards and flipped through the forms. “You have ninety days from the official date of registration to file a contract with the courts. Failure to do so may result in penalties and jail time as determined by a judge and/or jury. Do you understand this requirement?”

“I do,” Tara murmured. She jabbed Faith with an elbow until she grunted something approximating agreement.

“Thank you. Now, Chassidy will…” The clerk’s rote delivery faltered when a woman stepped up to the desk. “You’re not Chassidy.”

The woman – not Chassidy, apparently – smiled. “Gemma,” she said. “Chassidy’s been taken ill.”

Gemma had bad teeth. And a British accent. Latent paranoia sprang to life. Tara stepped in front of Faith and shoved all of her available energy into her protective shielding. She pulled too fast and used too much thrust. She knew she glowed. Heard the gasps from Trish and Company. It didn’t matter. With another rush of magic, her shields expanded to cover Faith.

“Another witch. How unusual. You’ll need to refrain from shielding for the validation, I’m afraid, Tara.” Gemma didn’t bother with niceties like titles or honorifics. “If you’ll lower the barrier…?”

Tara risked a chink in her shields. Gemma hadn’t gathered her own magic. Her channels were quiescent. Tara touched a thread of power but nothing threatening. Nothing nearly strong enough to harm Faith.

She lowered her shields but maintained a close eye on Gemma. Just in case. Then she removed the block she’d placed on the link. Emotions flowed through her. Faith. Tired. Impatient. Nervous. _Solid._ Tara held onto the feel of Faith as it coursed through her, healing some of the loneliness and fear of the last twenty-four hours.

“Thank you.” Gemma raised her hands and now Tara sensed magic in the air. “You’ll feel a slight tickle.”

The tickle brushed through Tara’s mind like a feather stroking over the bottom of a bare foot. She gritted her teeth and refused to wiggle. It should have been over in seconds. Their bond was real. There was no need for Gemma to probe.

Her shields trembled; Tara held off snapping them closed, though. Gemma might simply have a heavy magical hand.

Tara’s hesitation cost her. The tickle turned cold and sinister. It grabbed and smashed at Tara’s mind. Battered at her reservoir until Tara thought the inner walls would crumble. She heard Faith’s mental cry of pain as the attack looped through the bond.

No. This wasn’t going to happen. The Council or the Mayor, whoever had hired Gemma, wasn’t winning. Not today. Not ever. Tara reached for her shields despite the magical hammer beating in her head. It wasn’t easy. Gemma sensed her actions and the pounding disappeared under a wall of fire. It seared Tara’s mind, made the magic nearly impossible to command.

Gemma hadn’t counted on Tara’s need to protect Faith. If the shields were impossible to raise, Tara would _throw_ Gemma out of her mind instead of blocking her out. Gemma had started her attack by trying to destroy Tara’s reservoir. Gemma wanted to unleash all of Tara’s magic at once?

Tara gave it to her. With a mental flick of her wrist, Tara opened the floodgates. The rush of power nearly dropped Tara to her knees. Magic poured through her like a river breaking through a dam. It surged through her channels, dangerously high and out of control.

Rather than grab at it and risk being sucked into the maelstrom, Tara did no more than guide it. She frantically closed off specific channels and shunted the power into a more or less contained loop. Each circuit increased the speed and ferocity of Tara’s magic. Gemma never stood a chance. The magical river soaked the fire blazing in Tara’s mind.

The second the burning stopped, Tara sipped from her churning channels – and did a little mental battering of her own. Reaching into someone’s mind meant lowering your own shields. Gemma was wide open when Tara slammed into her.

And just like that, the battle was over. Gemma swayed and the clerk grabbed for her. Mission accomplished, Tara snapped her shields up and directed more energy into them. She didn’t care if she glowed like a beacon. No one would get through those magical barriers again, and Tara made sure her personal protection extended to Faith, too. She’d been arrogant before, believing her Adept status would keep their enemies from launching a magical attack.

“Are you alright?” The clerk didn’t sound like a robot anymore. He sounded like a man who didn’t want the new witch at his side to throw up all over his forms.

Pale and shaking, Gemma nodded jerkily. Tara bet the movement hurt – and found she didn’t really care. “The bond is valid,” Gemma said in a clipped voice.

Yes, it was. Tara didn’t wait for the clerk to tell her the process for the claiming. She turned to Faith. “Kneel.”

Since Tara had not yet closed off the link, she felt Faith’s surprise at the strength of Tara’s command and her (for once) unquestioning obedience.

Tara removed Faith’s cuff, tossing it onto the clerk’s table. Trish stepped forward with the new cuff Brian had picked up for them on the way to the Bond Registration Office. It was a cheap black leather. Tara regretted that. Regretted once again that this ceremony was a rushed lie. But she did _not_ regret telling Brian to have the symbol for “witch” burned into the surface of the cuff. Until today, she’d never considered her official “mark”. Today, announcing to the world that she was a witch and that Faith was under her protection was all that mattered.

“Faith Lehane, this cuff represents my bond to you. It is a physical symbol of my commitment to guide and protect you. Let it stand as a reminder to all who see it that you are loved and cherished, that you will never be alone or without shelter again.” Tara buckled the new cuff around Faith’s right wrist before replacing the cuff on her own left wrist with one that matched.

The ceremony was complete. Kissing Faith in celebration was the most natural thing Tara had ever done.

“Congratulations, Ma’am.” Trust the Dominant clerk to kill the mood. “I now declare Faith Lehane the claimed submissive of Tara Maclay. Next, please.”

“Your tax dollars at work,” Sue groused then danced out of the way of Brian’s playful swat. “What? Those same tax dollars pay your salary.” Brian was a City Engineer. “I wasn’t complaining, Sir.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you weren’t. You’d never make fun of my job.”

“Ignore them,” Maxie stage whispered. She leaped forward and wrapped Tara in a big hug. “You guys are _so_ cute together. I swear I swooned when you got all hot and heavy in line.” Fanning her face with her hands, she continued, “It was h-o-t, hot. If we hadn’t been in public – and you needed witnesses – I would have made Trish drag me to the nearest club for a room.”

***

Did Maxie think that shit was funny? Faith stalked alongside Tara, hands itching to smack the irritating grin off Maxie’s face. Of course Tara was hot. She was hot all the time. But Tara was something else, too. She was _Faith’s._

Wait. What the fuck? Faith didn’t own Tara any more than Tara owned _her_. No one belonged to anyone. The warm Tara presence in Faith’s mind shrank back at that thought and then disappeared entirely. Now Faith was sorry. She hadn’t meant to hurt Tara. Not after Tara had done…whatever to end the pounding in Faith’s head during the bond validation. She’d stopped the witch from frying them both with magic.

“We didn’t have time to plan a big bash.” Monica, the bitch, glared at Tara, making Faith want to stake her. “You really have to work on the amount of notice you give to your friends, Tara. The initial bonding party, now this. I hate to think what will happen when you finally collar Faith.”

Before Faith had a chance to panic, Tara said, “I have to earn the right to collar Faith first, Monica.” Her shoulder brushed Faith’s and Faith noticed the way Tara glanced at her reassuringly. “Besides, we only filed the claim three minutes ago. Take a deep breath and let us enjoy the rest of the day at least.”

_Take that, bitch._ Faith mentally mocked Monica.

“Three minutes. Three years. Doesn’t matter.” Trish resembled her sub as she hopped around. “It’s time to party.”

Faith could get behind a good party, but she doubted any of Tara’s friends would know what “good” meant. She couldn’t even imagine Tara at any of the bars or clubs she usually frequented. Hell, just thinking of Tara in Willy’s made her cringe. The human dive where she’d picked up her last loser Dominant wasn’t any better.

“Mistress is right, though, Ma’am. It’s a tradition. We always party when a member of the family claims or collars.” Leaning into Monica’s side, Drew winked at Faith. “I’m sure Mistress and Lady Trish can convince your Lady to loosen up and let her hair down.”

That was an idea Faith could get behind.

“Don’t get any ideas, my Slayer,” Tara warned.

Widening her eyes innocently, Faith asked, “What ideas, T? ‘Sides, your hair’s already down.” Maybe Drew wasn’t such a wuss after all. Not to mention she’d like to see Tara relaxed and buzzing a little. Tara had changed since their first meeting at the Social. Some of the changes weren’t for the best, like the wary expression in Tara’s eyes or the lines of strain bracketing Tara’s mouth.

“What do you think, Mistress?” Drew asked Monica. He didn’t seem fazed by her beady-eyed glare and the way her hand twined so tightly around his collar it had to be hard to breathe. In fact, he almost purred and rubbed against her as they finally made it outside. “You have to work early in the morning. Your big project is due. Tonight would be bad. You get grumpy when you don’t get enough sleep.”

He broke off abruptly as Monica stopped walking and dragged him onto his toes by his collar. “What did you say?” she hissed.

“Nothing, Mistress.” Drew didn’t protest Monica’s brutal hold on him. He slumped submissively, eyes and head down.

It was disgusting. Faith’s lip curled and she automatically moved a step close, intending to show Monica what it felt like to be abused. Tara stopped her with a hand on Faith’s arm and a slight shake of her head.

Brian took Faith’s place. Instead of tossing Monica down the stone steps leading from the government building, he tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re in public. I thought we agreed years ago you’d leave the foreplay for behind closed doors?”

Monica’s grip loosed slightly. “Spoilsport.” She shook Drew like a rag doll for a second and then pulled him in for a fast, hard kiss that left them both panting. “The next time you decide to push my buttons, princess, remember what Bri said. We only get to play in private. You’re just too delicious and it makes everyone on the street jealous.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Monica had obviously pressed one of Drew’s buttons, too. Now that Faith wasn’t out for Monica’s blood, she noticed the bulge in Drew’s pants. Did that shit turn his crank? Faith would have laid Monica out the first time she grabbed or smacked. Not to mention the stupid nicknames.

She watched their interaction more carefully as Brian rolled his eyes and moved back next to Sue. “If I didn’t have to break you apart at least once a week, I don’t know how I’d survive,” he grumbled.

“I wish you’d molest _me_ in public, Sir.” Sue stuck her tongue out but ruined the whole effort by burrowing into Brian’s side. “But you won’t, you big stick in the mud. It’s a good thing I love you so much.”

Trish and Maxie were arm in arm, too.

“Bonding ceremonies remind everyone of _their_ day.” Tara had noticed Faith’s examination of her friends. “Apparently that means a need to grab your partner and make out in public.” Her quirky smile was a thing of beauty. It had been absent for most of the day.

“Wanna test it out? We can’t let Monica and Trish have all the fun.” Faith licked her lips, hoping to provoke at least one kiss now that Tara was “back”.

Tara’s smile grew and then turned wonderfully remote. Oh, yeah. Faith could already taste Tara on her tongue.

“Goddess, why not?” Tara gripped Faith’s shirt and hauled her in for the kiss Faith had anticipated. And it was just as good, if not better than she’d imagined. Who was she kidding? It was _way_ better. Tara was an expert kisser. Just the right amount of teeth and tongue. The way her hands shifted from Faith’s shirt to her breasts?

If there was an award for sidewalk molestation, Faith would give it to Tara in a heartbeat.

“Get a room, would you?” Faith gave Monica the finger and pressed closer to Tara. “Tara! Your sub needs a lesson in manners,” Monica complained. Even lost in Tara’s kiss, Faith heard her laughing.

The next voice, though, wasn’t laughing. And it yanked Faith out of her Tara Haze. “Faith?” Ripping out of Tara’s hold, Faith spun and met the Mayor’s cold gaze. He was smiling. Or pretending. There was neither humor nor warmth in his eyes. “I’d wondered why you weren’t in the office today. I’m hurt you didn’t think to share your good news with me.”

“I agree, Mr. Mayor.” Where the Hell had Buffy come from? Faith had grown so used to the electric tingle on her skin, she hadn’t noticed Buffy follow them from the Bond Registration Office. “You didn’t even send us an invitation. I’m crushed.”


	48. Chapter 48

“Pretty simple, B,” Faith said. “If ya’ weren’t tryin’ to lock me up, ya’ might have gotten invited.” She ignored the way Tara’s hand tightened on her arm in warning. “Then again, probably not. I’m done lettin’ you treat me like shit.”

Buffy turned pale. Faith enjoyed the way the muscles in her face went taut. High and mighty Buffy didn’t like hearing the truth.

“Faith!” Two voices called. One was soft, disappointed. The other held badly buried glee. The Mayor. “That’s no way to talk to a former colleague. I’m sure Ms. Summers didn’t realize how much you disliked your position with the Council. That’s why working for me made such sense.”

Did he think Faith was still on his side? Was he really that stupid? Faith risked another look and had to force her feet not to move. Undisguised hatred blazed from his eyes. The Mayor was enjoy this scene.

Why? Then it hit her. Because of Allen Finch and the Mayor, Faith had turned her back on Buffy and the Council. Because _Faith_ was so stupid, he’d managed to drive a wedge so deeply into the Council that they were chasing after Faith instead of him.

Tara had been studying Giles’ demon books when she’d brought Faith home the night before. Those books hadn’t been out since. And Buffy was here. With Faith. Not at the House with the Scoobies. They’d all unintentionally played right into the Mayor’s hands. “Sorry,” Faith muttered, not looking at anyone. Let _them_ figure out what she was apologizing for. Faith knew that single word covered a lot of territory. She was sorry for so many things.

“Will you be back in the office soon, Faith?” The Mayor was back to smiling. “I can understand taking a few days off to be with your new Dominant. However, we have so much work to do this time of year; I’m afraid I can’t spare you more than that.”

“Faith and I haven’t had a chance to discuss her future,” Tara answered before Faith could decide whether to laugh at the Mayor or quit on the spot. She moved so that she stood between the Mayor and Faith. It was becoming a familiar pose – and it warmed Faith all the way to her soul. “I’ll have her give you a call once we do. I’m sure you realize that Faith has many options.”

She did? Faith nearly snorted. Tara had a gift for exaggeration. She was a high school dropout (since leaving the Council), and she’d burned her employment bridges with both the Council and the Mayor. Not that she wanted to return to either. Her “many options” consisted of flipping burgers at the DMP or bouncing at Willy’s.

“Of course, Tara. May I call you Tara?” How had Faith ever fallen for the Mayor’s act? It was so clear it _was_ acting, too, from the forced joviality to the wide, forced smile. “What kind of accent is that?” He continued to talk, not letting Tara say anything. “Midwest? Let me guess. I’m good at this. Before becoming Mayor of Sunnydale, I used to travel extensively. Oklahoma?”

Faith had a perfect view of Tara’s back, thanks to the way Tara had positioned herself. She immediately noted Tara’s posture turn rigid while a flush stained the back of her neck.

“No. Not Oklahoma. Close.” Cupping his chin in one palm, the Mayor tapped a finger against his lips and regarded Tara closely. “I’ve got it! Kansas. It has to be Kansas. I mean, there isn’t much of an accent in the Midwest. More like a complete _lack_ of one, but it’s something in the way you say certain words.” His triumphant expression caused Faith to shiver. He was up to something. He’d had that same look the night he’d confronted Wes and Giles about her leaving the Council. “What made you leave your family and come all the way to my beautiful little city?”

“Fate.” Faith was used to Tara being calm. Or being the cool Dominant. Right now, though, Tara was something else. Something Faith couldn’t identify. Whatever it was made Faith want to wrap Tara in a hug and pull her away from the Mayor. “Fate brought me to Sunnydale so I could be here for Faith.”

Really? Faith smiled. Tara had a way with the sappy bullshit. “You’re gonna make me blush, T.”

Tare didn’t turn away from the Mayor. However, she reached back, holding out her hand. That hand. Faith mentally shook her head. What was it about Tara’s hand? Whatever it was, Faith had to hold that hand. She took it – and allowed Tara to pull her forward until Faith pressed into Tara’s side.

“If you’ll excuse us.” Faith had wondered if Tara was ever rude. Tara answered that question as she brushed off the Mayor and Buffy. “I’d like to take Faith home and celebrate our claiming.” With a twist of their joined hands, Tara showed off Faith’s new cuff and the mark burned into its surface.

“Of course.” The Mayor was back to being Mr. Nice Guy. He beamed at them like he’d had something to do with the whole bond thing. “Of course. I’m so happy for you both. Ms. Maclay, I hope we get to know each other better. I think of Faith as a daughter, and family is so very important. You two enjoy the rest of your day, and I’ll head back to the office to wait for your call. It’s not the same at City Hall without my Faith in residence.”

Faith felt Tara stiffen. Felt her fingers close around Faith’s until she nearly hissed from the crushing grip. “Thank you,” Tara said – and damned if it didn’t sound like she was uttering the words through clenched teeth. She stayed in that picture perfect posture as the Mayor wandered off, whistling.

“Wow. I’d forgotten you worked for the City, too, Faith.” Brian smiled. “That makes three of us. You, me, and Monica.” He turned to Sue. “I think it’s time you stopped making fun of my stuffy job. If the City is good enough for Faith, surely it’s good enough for your poor, hen-pecked Master.”

Sue snorted – and then had to skip out of the way of Brian’s swat to her ass.

“Tara, before you go…” Buffy was back. Or still there. Faith knew she’d never left; however, Buffy had definitely stayed quiet and out of the way while the Mayor was there.

Tara barely glanced in Buffy’s direction. It was a red-letter day; Faith marveled at the way always-polite Tara turned into a cold and disdainful Lady with little more than a raise of one eyebrow. “Don’t even think about taking Faith from me.”

The possessive statement should have sent Faith running. Instead, it turned her on and made her insides mutate into Jell-O. Damn, Tara was hot when she got all up in her Dominance. Not to mention Faith wanted to hoot with laughter at Buffy getting put down so hard and fast.

“I’m not here for Faith.” Buffy grimaced. “Not really. You know the Council’s here, though, right?” With a flick of her wrist, Buffy pointed to the uniformed and armed Retrieval Team Faith had spotted in the Registration Office. “Giles is fighting the warrant tooth and nail. He’s still got a few high-placed friends; he’s called them all. Repeatedly. For a man who whines about the phone bill, he’s making a whole lot of long calls to Scotland to help Faith.”

If Buffy thought her words were funny, she was mistaken. Tara didn’t laugh. In fact, her entire _lack_ of laughter made Faith want to grin. Because it made Buffy get her Grumpy Face on.

“We aren’t the enemy,” Buffy snapped. “We never have been.”

Really? Faith took a step toward Buffy, intent on…disagreeing with her, and found her path blocked by a very hard to move Tara. “I think the guns and the threats Wes made to my friends say otherwise,” Tara said softly. “Now, we’d like to go home.”

“I won’t stop you. And neither will the Council.” Buffy stepped to one side, giving them a clear path to the sidewalk. “Giles is at the police station, filing a temporary restraining order. It will keep the Council, _all_ of us, at least a hundred feet away. He also managed to get a stay on the warrant, too.”

A little of Tara’s chill faded. “Thank you, Buffy.”

Faith mumbled her own, “Fuckin’ awesome.” She’d never expected Buffy or Giles to ever stand up for her.

“We’ve always been there for you, Faith,” Buffy announced. “I guess maybe we didn’t do enough. Or we didn’t talk to you about what was going on. Or we just didn’t do it right. I don’t know.” With a shrug, Buffy took another step out of the way. “Go home. Enjoy being together. Congratulations.” And just like that, Buffy walked away.

“I was all wrong about you, Tara.” Monica’s voice grated on Faith’s already-strained nerves. “You do know how to throw a party. The Mayor and a standoff with one of the most powerful people on the planet. Who needs drinks at the club with a group of normal friends after that?”

Normal friends. Faith snorted. “If you’re normal…”

Everyone except Monica laughed. Faith thought she saw Monica’s lips twitch, though. She waited to see if Monica could maintain the nasty glare. “It’s a good thing you aren’t mine,” Monica threatened softly.

“Oooh! That some kinda threat?” Faith mocked. Then she yelped in surprise when Tara reached out and gripped her ear, digging her nail into Faith’s earlobe. The message was clear. “Sorry. Just joking.”

_Now_ Monica smiled. “No problem.”

She was such a bitch. And Faith wasn’t sure that Tara wasn’t learning too much from this one particular friend. That hold on her ear kind of hurt. Sulking, Faith stomped alongside Tara as they headed for home.

Well, Faith sulked until Tara stopped a few blocks later and devoured her lips in a kiss. “Goddess, you have to put that lower lip away,” Tara mumbled huskily afterward.

Tara was kidding, right? Because now Faith stuck her lip out as far as she could get it.

“If you need a minute, Tar, we’ll wait for you down the block.” Trish was laughing at them; Faith couldn’t have cared less. Tara was still pressed against her, and she could taste Tara on her lips. “Tara?”

With a wicked curl of her lips, Tara answered. “Don’t wait for us.”

Don’t wait. What? Faith tore her eyes from Tara’s lips. Oh, yeah. Tara had Faith’s favorite eyes “on.” Deep, hypnotic blue. She leaned into Tara, letting that blue pull her in. The sidewalk faded away; Trish’s next comment was an unintelligible mumble.

“Come on.” Faith could do that. She leaned in further, ready for another kiss – and stumbled as Tara stepped back. “There’ll be more time for kisses in a few minutes, Faith.” Humor laced with cold steel infused Tara’s taunt. With a cant of an eyebrow, she dared Faith to protest. “Come with me.”

Wanting to whine like a child who’d lost a treasured toy, Faith pressed her lips together and refused to move.

“Keep that up, and you might not like the results.” Tara was all Dominant now, no hint of play left.

And Faith couldn’t resist that. Fuck, no. All her bones disappeared; her muscles turned to rubber. “Sorry,” she said. She couldn’t meet Tara’s eyes anymore. Although, Faith _had_ to sneak a peek after a second. She had to see. Had to know.

“You’re forgiven, Faith.” The world righted with Tara’s response. “Hold my hand and stay close to me, please.” This time, Tara didn’t have to ask twice. Faith seized Tara’s hand and walked so close to Tara that their shoulders brushed together with each step. “You know what I realized, my Slayer?”

“What, Tara?” If _Faith_ had been the one asking that question, the answer would have been, “You’re fucking hot.” Since she _hadn’t_ asked, Faith inched a millimeter farther into Tara’s personal space and waited for Tara to clue her in.

“I don’t have any jump rope in my room,” Tara said. “No jump rope, no spatula. Just a new, in-the-box bondage doll.”

Not even the thrall enveloping Faith lessened the impact of that image. Faith chuckled. “Why’d ya’ waste your money on that? You knew how to use rope the other day.” The skin on Faith’s wrists tingled at the memory, and her stomach tightened. “That what we’re stopping for? Rope?”

Tara didn’t spill her secret. She raised their joined hands and nipped one of Faith’s fingers. “You’ll see.”

They stopped three more times. Not for rope. For kisses. And touching. Light, barely-there brushes of Tara’s fingers over Faith’s lips. The bare skin of her arms. Her wrist at the edge of her new cuff.

It drove Faith crazy…and had her yearning for more. Tara’s hand was a lifeline. She gripped it desperately as they walked and walked and walked several more blocks. Finally, Tara stopped again. Faith vibrated before Tara ever touched her. When the caress came, a single finger flowing from Faith’s chin, over the fabric of her shirt all the way to a spot between her breasts, Faith moaned. She wanted more. _Needed_ more.

Except Tara stepped away again.

“Tara, _please_.” Faith didn’t beg. Never. Not since Boston and the Dominants who’d paid for her body and punished until she gave them what they wanted. Asking Tara to touch her, though, didn’t feel the same. The soft plea was an entreaty; Tara would never leave Faith high and dry. She wouldn’t laugh at Faith’s need.

She might grin a little. Appear pleased and a whole lot turned on. Faith enjoyed the flushed and anticipatory expression Tara wore at the moment. “I know, sweetie. You don’t have to wait much longer; I promise. We’re here.”

“Here”, when Faith managed a quick glance, was the discreet entrance to a club. Not one Faith had ever visited before. It was too quiet inside, and it didn’t reek of booze and sex. The hushed atmosphere, the clean and comfortable furniture Faith noticed as Tara drew her through the clubroom, spoke of money and of people not standing on the edge of violence and desperation.

The sights and sounds, the murmur of voices, and the familiar slap and snap of toys against flesh whirled around Faith. They somehow soaked into her, reinforcing the fog in her mind. Her desire to lean into Tara and lose herself in Tara’s touch grew. Faith gave in. She didn’t want to fight this time. Tara didn’t scare her. Didn’t send her emotional walls slamming into place.

As Tara spoke with someone, a club employee from the uniform, Faith burrowed into Tara’s side. The conversation stopped. Faith heard the voices disappear – which was perfect because it came a half-second before Tara kissed her. Soft this time. Soft and seductive.

Faith grumbled when Tara pulled away yet again. Damn it. Tara was always pulling away.

“Be patient, my Slayer.” Cool and in-control, Tara reprimanded Faith’s protest. With lightning speed, Tara was back for one last kiss. More of a nip, really, teeth scraping Faith’s protruding bottom lip in a bright flash of pain that was gone almost before it registered.

That burst of pain eclipsed Faith’s mind. Enveloped her in its heat. “Yes, Tara.”

Tara’s renewed conversation with the club employee was more hurried than before. Faith saw a credit card change hands. Watched Tara sign a form. “Are you still ready, sweetie?”

“I’m always ready.” The boast was automatic.

“Good to know.” How did Tara’s half-smile (nearly a smirk) get Faith to smile in response? “You’ll have to show me just _how_ ready in a minute, sweetie.” Walking backward toward the private rooms, Tara pulled Faith in her wake.

Each step took them away from the clubroom. Away from “public” and into private. With each footfall, Faith’s focus narrowed until only Tara remained. She didn’t see a door ahead open and a couple come out arm in arm. She didn’t hear a man’s hoarse shout from another room. Tara was the only thing in the hallway – and in the fog that billowed in Faith’s mind.

Just Tara with her deep blue eyes and beckoning hand. The soft sound of the door closing behind them only meant that reality matched Faith’s perception. They were the only two people on the planet (or in the room).

It made it easier to hear the hitch in Tara’s breathing and the audible sound of her swallow. “Please take off my clothes, Faith.” Each syllable was slow and distinct. Controlled. And the sound caused Faith to shiver even as she moved willingly forward.

Faith wanted to hurry. Fast and furious was her norm. Her movements remained slow, however. Tara didn’t look ready to have Faith rip her shirt off. That meant Faith had the opportunity to smooth her palms over Tara’s soft skin as she shoved Tara’s T-shirt up and over her head. She enjoyed feeling the flesh beneath Tara’s bra even more.

The shivers that resulted from her touch made Faith smile. “You alright up there, T?” she taunted softly.

“Did I ask you to talk?” Tara’s voice was husky and deep, yet still sharp enough to snap.

Faith lowered her head at the sound. “No, Tara.” Now _she_ shivered, and her hands slipped down to unbuckle Tara’s belt. The leather was heavy in her hands. The buckle cold. Faith let the tongue rest in her left hand and carefully guided it through Tara’s belt loops.

“Much better.” Tara reached out and stroked Faith’s neck. “You want to be a good girl, don’t you, my Slayer?”

Good girl. It was laughable. Faith wasn’t good.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Faith? Hmmm?” Tara reached down and helped Faith shove her jeans and underwear to the floor. She stood straight and steady, completely naked, in front of Faith. “You make it easy to do _this_. To let you see me. All of me. My f-father told me I was fat and ugly. You, my Faith, make me feel beautiful.”

Tara _was_ beautiful. Faith wanted to pound Tara’s father to a pulp for lying to her. For making her feel bad. But she wanted to kiss and nibble at the freckles dotting Tara’s shoulders and chest more. She licked her lips and leaned in.

“I know people have told you that you were bad, Faith. They were wrong.” Tara’s comments drew Faith up short. “They were _wrong_. You aren’t bad. You’re my strong, sexy, and very good Slayer.” Chin nearly resting on her chest, Faith felt warmth bloom in her chest. A glow that grew like embers fanned by a puff of air when Tara whispered, “I think you’re perfect, Faith.”

What was she supposed to say or do? Faith didn’t know how to respond to Tara’s outrageous compliments.

“Now, my perfect Faith, I want you to lie on the bed for me.” Tara turned Faith toward the bed and walked her to the foot. Her breasts pressed into Faith’s back with each step. “I don’t want you to do anything except lie there.”

Faith clambered onto the bed and sprawled on her back. “What about my boots?” They looked bizarre against the pale cream comforter.

“What did I tell you, Faith?” Tara asked. “What should you be doing right this very minute?”

Oops. Faith lifted and deliberately resettled her boots on the bed and wiggled until she’d found the perfect spot for her head in the pillows. “Layin’ here doin’ nothing.” Tara could explain to the club owners why there was dirt and shit all over the comforter. Faith wasn’t arguing with Tara when she was all Domme-y.

Tara wandered away and began opening drawers in the massive chest along one wall. “I noticed something the last time we played,” she announced.

Faith didn’t answer. Talking hadn’t been on the list of allowed activities. Besides, what could she say? She had no clue what Tara was rambling about. She’d just lie on the bed and enjoy the view.

It was a fabulous view. Tara’s hair swung against her back, offering teasing glimpses of her ass. And when she bent to open the lower drawers… Faith licked her lips. Oh, yeah. Lying on the bed was just fine.

“You like to be restrained, my Faith.” Tara turned, her hands full of rope. The comment took a moment to register. Faith was distracted by the bounce and jiggle of Tara’s breasts.

When she managed to drag her attention back to Tara and the rope, Faith immediately disagreed. “No, I don’t.” Of course she didn’t like to be tied up. Every fucking one of the men and women who’d used her as a child had tied or chained her down.

“Really?” The coiled rope slithered in Tara’s hands as she unraveled it. The deep red color was shocking against Tara’s pale skin. “I remember it differently. You _wanted_ me to wrap my scarf around your neck in the back of the cab. And you didn’t struggle when I wrapped the jump rope over your wrists.”

True or not, Faith wasn’t admitting anything. She was too busy watching Tara play the rope over and around her own wrists in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Today isn’t about bondage, though.” That rope said differently. Faith’s skin tingled as phantom loops closed around wrists and ankles. Still playing with the rope, Tara walked back to the bed and climbed on. Her knees settled into place on either side of Faith’s hips. “There will be no bondage, Faith, because _you_ will keep yourself in place. _You_ are responsible for remaining in exactly this same position no matter what I say or do. Do you understand?” The soft cotton rope dangled from her hands, brushing over Faith’s stomach.

“I guess so.” It sounded pretty lame, though. Faith obligingly relaxed into the mattress.

Her agreement pleased Tara. “Thank you.” She set the rope on Faith’s chest so the ends rested in the hollow of Faith’s throat. “If you move enough that this falls off, I’ll know you want me to stop.”

More weird rules. Faith started to shrug and then froze as the rope shifted. Crap. “OK.” Without appearing to move, Tara _changed_. Faith sensed it instantly from the sudden stillness in Tara’s body and the flicker of ice in Tara’s eyes – and verbally scrambled to correct her error. “Yes, Tara.”

The next second was the longest of Faith’s life. She watched Tara, Tara’s expression, like a hawk. A tiny smile was her sign, and Faith closed her eyes in momentary relief.

They popped open again when Tara carefully scooted backward. Her butt rested on Faith’s knees and her breasts hung so that her nipples brushed over the fabric of Faith’s shirt-covered stomach. Oh, yeah. Faith tightened her muscles and flexed up…until that damned rope shifted. Son of a bitch.

Tara bent her head and pressed her mouth over Faith’s chest. Damp heat seared Faith’s skin, the cotton shirt no protection.

“I saw a documentary on the History Channel the other day.” Tara moved her kiss an inch to the left. Now another hot spot joined the first. Faith wondered if she’d incinerate from kisses alone. She wondered if Tara wanted to turn her to ash without bothering to take off Faith’s clothes. “Apparently, there is a debate about the real meaning of Dominance.”

Who the fuck cared? Faith didn’t. All she cared about was the cold spots on her chest where Tara hadn’t yet kissed. She strained – without moving – hoping to convince Tara to stop talking and kiss all those frigid spots.

“Do you think Domination means physically forcing the submissive to give in, Faith?” Tara asked. She didn’t lean down again. In fact, she sat up. “Should I use that rope to bind you? Do I need a whip and chains to make you submit?”

“Could if ya’ wanted.” There had been plenty who’d done just that back in Boston.

Tara frowned but finally warmed up the next spot on Faith’s chest. Mmm. That was what Faith had needed. “I don’t want to _make_ you submit, Faith. If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be. You can leave at any time.”

“I know.” Tara was so different than any other Dominant Faith had ever met. “If I wanna go, all I gotta do is move. The rope falls off, and you stop what you’re doing.” It had taken a second for Faith to figure out it was both her safeword – and Tara’s gauge of her obedience.

“Always so smart,” Tara said. She kissed _three_ more spots before resuming her lecture. Faith groaned in disbelief when Tara leaned back again. _Tara_ was the one who should be tied down – so she could keep kissing Faith. “If the dynamic is right, the submissive should want to stay. There would be a connection with the Dominant that wouldn’t require chains.”

Faith mentally sighed and gave in. If Tara really wanted to talk about the ins and outs of scening, Faith would add her two cents. “Some people like whips and chains.” From the wood he’d sported after Monica tried to choke him, Drew was probably one of them. And Faith could easily see Monica swinging a whip.

“True.” More kisses followed. All the way across Faith’s chest before Tara started back the other way right beneath the first row. Faith wiggled in delight. Well, _wanted_ to wiggle. She didn’t because of the damned rope. “What about submission and sex, Faith? Do you think they have to go together?”

Didn’t they? Faith only let Dominants push her around when she had an itch to scratch. Did other people do something else? She stared up at Tara in confusion.

“Making love is nice.” Well, duh. Faith didn’t mock Tara’s quiet statement out loud. She _did_ snort with amusement. Making love was way more than “nice”. “I think true submission – or Dominance, for that matter – is about more than physical satisfaction. It’s about giving you what you need, whether that’s a kiss,” another warm spot joined the others on Faith’s chest, “or asking you to get me a cup of coffee from the kitchen. If you need sex, I can do that. If you want to serve me, then I can provide an opportunity for that, too.”

Faith _needed_ another kiss. “So if I needed ya’ to shut up and kiss me, you’d do that?”

Now Tara was the one who snorted. “I could, yes.” And she did. “However, a kiss isn’t all you need, is it, my Faith?” Her tone had deepened. The off-hand lecture replaced with a hint of command. “You think every Dominant wants to own you. They want to prove they can _make_ you submit. They want to tie you down and fuck you.”

The profanity was shocking. As shocking as the hard, horrible words she hurled at Faith.

To Hell with the rope. Faith forgot all about it as she twisted her head away from the truth of Tara’s comments. Luckily, the rope slithered but didn’t quite fall off Faith’s throat. The edges hovered, clinging as if glued to her skin.

“You have all your clothes on, Faith. I’m naked. The rope isn’t holding you down; it’s resting on your throat,” Tara said softly. “I won’t hold you down. I won’t harm you. Not like those other Dominants. I’ll only hurt you the way you want. Only fuck you if that’s what you ask for.” Her next kiss bypassed Faith’s chest and landed on her lips. “You’re the submissive, Faith, but you hold all the control. As your…as a Dominant, I will only ever give you what you truly need.”

The room contracted and then expanded. Faith sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t…what…”

“What do you need, my Faith?” Tara kissed her again. Faith trembled. Not from the light-as-air press of Tara’s lips to hers. Not from the weight of Tara’s body over hers. No. The shaking started deep inside. As Tara had spoken, Faith had begun putting facts together.

Fact: Tara had never crossed any of Faith’s stated limits.

Fact: Tara had _not_ wanted to take her clothes off for Faith’s massage yesterday – but she was naked now, while Faith had all her clothes on.

Being naked gave Faith all the power. She could laugh at Tara (which she’d never do). She could easily deny Tara access to her body (which Faith knew Tara would never take by force). “You’re fucking crazy.” And sweet. Faith wanted to move her hands, wanted to hold Tara. She didn’t. She kept then where they were. That had been the agreement. If Faith moved, the scene, however unusual it was, would end. Faith was smart enough to understand that she wasn’t the only one who needed something from this particular scene. Tara did, too. Faith had to discover what that was.

“I wanna be here,” Faith said with complete honesty. So what if she’d thought they’d come here for some afternoon delight? Tara had changed the game plan. In fact, she’d given Faith the playbook. “I really think I need ya’ to keep kissing me.”

One of Tara’s eyebrows shot up but Faith got her kiss. Tara moved back to her chest and slowly, so slowly Faith thought she’d lose her mind, covered every inch of Faith’s torso. Except for her breasts. Tara avoided those despite the way Faith’s nipples poked up in invitation through the layers of bra and shirt. Then Tara gave up kissing for touching. She massaged and stroked up and down Faith’s legs. Slid her hands beneath Faith’s shoulders and turned her tight muscles to water.

Faith _burned_ wherever Tara touched or kissed. But the burn wasn’t a forest fire of desire. It was more like the heat of an electric blanket in a Boston winter. She was comfortable and relaxed and she never wanted Tara to stop.

It was a natural extension of Tara’s “play” when Tara slid to one side and cuddled against Faith. Faith curled her arm protectively around Tara’s shoulder and smiled when Tara’s right hand came to rest over her heart.


	49. Chapter 49

Faith was hot. Not only because she was so beautiful she made Tara’s heart hurt, though. Faith _radiated_ heat. With a happy sigh, Tara burrowed as close as humanly possible. Goddess, she wanted to stay right there, held protectively against Faith’s side. Forever.

Nothing had gone the way Tara had planned. Not the claiming ceremony. Not the walk home, with Buffy and the Mayor popping in for a visit. And certainly not this scene. The plan had been so crystal clear in her mind. Well, maybe things _had_ gotten a bit fuzzy after all the kissing on the sidewalk. When they’d walked into the club, though, Tara had known what she’d wanted: Faith, naked and on her knees.

Reality was so different than that fantasy. Her right palm stroked over Faith’s heart, feeling the slow, deep _thump._ Her eyes closed. The darkness. The warmth. Faith’s heartbeat and her strong arm. They all combined into the first truly safe place Tara had ever found. “My p-parents weren’t hap-py in their bond,” she admitted. It was easy to talk in this perfect sanctuary. Being with Faith held the nightmare memories away. Mostly. An image of her mother’s scarred back and frightened eyes snuck in. “He b-beat her. All the t-time. Wh-whips. C-ag-ges.” Pressing her lips together, she struggled to breathe, to control the stutter.

"Sounds like a bastard.” Faith’s other arm enclosed Tara.

Yes, he was. Faith was a genius to figure that out so fast. No one else had realized how evil Tara’s father had been. The few times Tara had been off the farm, everyone had treated her father like a good, upstanding member of the community.

Callused fingers stroked slowly up and down Tara’s back. The touch was shocking. Surprising. Faith rarely reached out to Tara. Had never initiated contact before. The soft, soothing touch reached all the way to Tara’s soul – and made a home there. A tiny glow sparked in Tara’s heart. Faith might pretend not to want the bond or Tara. But her actions showed just how much she really cared. “He was,” Tara agreed softly. “My mother was wonderful, though.” Her mother had been beautiful, inside and out. “She was a witch, too.”

Silence descended for several minutes. Tara floated, Faith’s caresses creating an impenetrable bubble of happiness and safety around her. Her father didn’t stand a chance against that invisible barrier.

“What was she like?” Faith’s question lacked the usual brash edge. It was muted. Maybe Faith felt it, too. That they were the only two people on the planet. “Your ma.”

“Beautiful.” Tara smiled. “She was beautiful.” Tara had hidden her past from everyone. She’d given Maxie and Trish a glimpse into her personal Hell, but she’d never told them about her mother. Those memories were personal; only Faith was close enough to hear about the only good memories Tara had of her childhood. All of a sudden, Tara _wanted_ to share.

“We used to bake cookies for my father. He didn’t want us to have any, but Mama would make an extra dozen and hide them.” There had been a loose floorboard in the kitchen with just enough space beneath for a bag of cookies. “We’d sit in the living room,” her mother had really knelt, “and it was our secret.”

Faith had stopped stroking Tara’s back. She hugged Tara tightly. “My ma never baked. Don’t think she even knew how to turn on the stove.”

“I can show you.” Tara pressed a kiss to Faith’s shoulder. “Chocolate chip, oatmeal, molasses. Those are my favorites. We cooked, too. That’s where I learned how to make pancakes. I didn’t make you any funny shapes this morning. Next time; I promise.” Her mother had loved the kitchen. If they weren’t in the attic practicing forbidden magic, they had been in the kitchen. “Mama would have loved you, Faith. She’d have cooked and baked until even your Slayer was stuffed and you weighed three hundred pounds.”

A husky chuckled rumbled through Tara’s “body pillow”. “That ain’t possible. You ever see a fat Slayer?”

“I’d never even met a Slayer until the Social. Papa wouldn’t let us off the farm except for a few trips to town every year.” It had been so lonely on the farm. Of course, Tara had preferred to be alone. When her father had been in the house…

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen silent until Faith muttered, “Better than havin’ all the _friends_ I did.”

The emphasis on friends. The way her hands had turned to fists against Tara’s back. Tara wanted to offer comfort, but Faith didn’t know Tara had information about her past. “I didn’t have any friends. Just Mama.” Maybe Faith felt it, too. A need to share in this private room where only the two of them existed. “What was it like in Boston? I thought Sunnydale was a big city when I got here.”

Faith didn’t speak at first. The room echoed with silence. “You’da hated it. ‘Least where I came from. Dark and dirty and full of fucked up people.” The unspoken “like me” was evident in Faith’s strained voice. “Saw other places on field trips, though. Rode through Beacon Hill on the way to City Hall. Think they had money hangin’ off the trees. It was pretty. Old, though.”

Tara could only imagine how different that rich neighborhood had been from Faith’s home.

“And Boston’s Slayer HQ made the Sunnydale House look like a crack house. Fit like fifty of ‘em in the HQ. It took up a whole city block,” Faith continued. “Slayers and Watchers everywhere.”

“Did you hate it, my Faith? The way you hate it here?” Tara wanted to know. Had Faith always been unhappy with her calling? Maxie had made it sound like Faith’s problem with the Council had started from the first day she’d “joined.” Surely Faith had enjoyed being a Slayer at the beginning.

Faith’s shrug was answer enough. Tara understood. No, Faith hadn’t been happy at the HQ in Boston. “I’m sorry.” Then, because she couldn’t always filter her thoughts and words, she muttered, “Stupid Council.”

“Stupid Faith,” Faith corrected. “’Least, that’s what my Watcher said all the time.” Faith’s voice changed, turned high-pitched and whiny, “You do not have the intelligence to be a Slayer. I don’t know _what_ Fate was thinking when it selected _you_ to be the Champion for Good.’ I heard it, like, a hundred times a day.”

“If we ever go to Boston, I’ll level the entire building,” Tara promised. “I can do it, too. I’m an Adept.” Faith had to understand just how powerful she was. Not only could Tara protect her from Wes, she could also punish the Council for what it had done to Faith from Day One.

“I ain’t never going back to Boston.” Faith’s response was hard and fast.

Tara felt the same way about returning to the farm. It wasn’t ever happening. “I could go to Boston without you.” She kissed Faith’s arm. “You’ve met Maxie; she’s already threatened to bring the Marines in to help. She could take pictures when I threw the first fireball.” That part was the truth. The fireball…not so much. Tara confronted a very sad reality: she would never be a violent person. Deliberately destroying something, even the evil Council building where Faith had been emotionally abused by her Watcher, was outside Tara’s comfort zone.

She’d be perfectly fine marching in and giving the entire Watcher staff a piece of her mind.

As long as she didn’t think about it for more than a second. Or the stutter would start, and then Tara would sound pathetic. She’d better stick to imaginary fireballs.

The next sound that rumbled through Faith brought Tara’s head up in shock. Were those _giggles_? Tara joined in helplessly, Faith’s girlish laughter too much to resist. “You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that, right?” Faith finally gasped.

Tara buried her face in Faith’s side for a second, fighting to get her laughter under control. She was only partly successful, and it showed in the uneven cadence of her denial. “I prefer…” Not even pressing her lips together contained the next wave of giggles. Faith’s dimples deepened, and Tara narrowed her eyes (well, she tried, anyway). “I prefer to think of it as eccentric.”

“You been spendin’ too much time with Willow. All them big words.” And just like that, their “moment” was over. Faith’s expression hardened, and she went board stiff beneath Tara.

The silent withdrawal hurt. Goddess, it hurt. Tara reeled at the lightning-fast change in Faith, and the loss of their tenuous connection. At least she’d _had_ a connection this time. They’d shared an afternoon and a few deep, dark secrets. It was a start. It was enough to give Tara hope that maybe Faith wouldn’t turn and walk away from their bond the second the Mayor and the Council were no longer threats.

“We should probably go.” Tara was proud that her voice didn’t waver. Her eyes _did_ tear when she rolled off of Faith and padded to her pile of clothes. She shivered, too. Without Faith’s warmth wrapped around her, Tara froze. Not even dragging on her shirt and pants combated the chill.

***

Faith was many things. No matter what the Council thought, “stupid” wasn’t really one of those things. She knew, without a doubt, that she’d hurt Tara. No way were those tears of happiness in Tara’s eyes. Fucking Willow. Faith hadn’t been thinking when she’d teased Tara about sounding like Willow. She hadn’t been prepared for the rush of anger that Willow’s name and the reminder of the Council set off. And now Tara was dressed and ready to leave.

All because of fucking Willow. Willow had been a thorn in Faith’s side since she’d passed the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign the first time. All happy babble and big grins, topped with a heaping helping of innocence that rubbed Faith the wrong way. And now Willow had somehow managed to push Faith’s buttons without even being in the same room with Tara as the unintentional victim.

“We ain’t gotta go,” Faith mumbled. She didn’t _want_ to go. Leaving meant facing reality, and Tara and this rented room offered a chance to hide away and pretend that life didn’t suck.

Tilting her head, Tara watched Faith. It was a little creepy – and it made Faith want to twitch. And look away. Maybe bow her head. “What would you like to do, sweetie?”

What did normal people do? Faith was clueless until another Willow memory surface. One without Willow’s chirpy voice accusing Faith of being stupid.

_“Did you enjoy today, drag_ _ᾰ?” Faith rolled her eyes as Janna kissed the top of Willow’s head. The gesture made her want to gag. “We shopped all day and didn’t buy anything. Not even that shirt that matched your eyes.”_

_Willow’s grin indicated she didn’t agree with Faith about that kiss. Light flashed off her super-white teeth and she wiggled against Janna’s hug. “It wasn’t about buying, Doamn_ _ᾰ. I don’t need you to buy me things.”_

_“Then what?” Janna’s scowl was so overdone that Willow giggled rather than cowered away. “My feet hurt from walking all over Sunnydale, and **now** you tell me didn’t need anything from **any** of the shops you dragged me to?”_

_“I only needed you, Janna,” Willow whispered._

At the time, Faith hadn’t understood. She’d actually snorted at the crap spewing from Willow. Sentimental bullshit. It was all different now. Her chest was warm where Tara had lain. She missed the feel of Tara pressed against her and the soft expression in Tara’s eyes as she talked about her mother. “Wanna shop?”

She surprised Tara – both eyebrows reached for Tara’s hairline as her eyes widened. “Sh-shop?”

Pushing through sudden embarrassment, Faith muttered, “You know, walk around and look at shit.” It was a stupid idea. Faith regretted saying anything. “We ain’t gotta…”

“Come on.” Holding out her hand, Tara smiled. “We’ll stop for dinner while we’re out, too. I haven’t spent much time downtown. When I lived on campus, I stuck to the student union and this tiny grocery store near the dorms.”

“I’ll show ya’ a good time.” Faith rolled off the bed and grabbed Tara’s hand. It was always so soft and smooth against her rougher skin.

Tara’s giggle made Faith feel light and airy inside. “I bet you say that to all the Dominants.”

And just like that, light and air were sucked away. Faith shivered and felt her expression go cold. She’d never told the johns who’d “visited” _anything_. She’d fought the ones who’d Dominated her. Refused to whip or fuck the ones who crawled to her, begging her to hurt them.

“You don’t have to show me anything, Faith,” Tara continued. She must not have sensed Faith’s change in mood. She swung their joined hands and pulled Faith in close as they walked back toward the club room. “Every time with you is good. I only want you to be you.”

Did Tara really mean that? Faith turned sideways and peered at Tara. Everyone wanted Faith to be someone else. To act or talk a different way. To dress better. To follow their rules.

“You don’t believe me,” Tara stated.

No, Faith didn’t. It was a trap. Tara was setting some kind of trap. As soon as Faith said or did the wrong thing, Tara would change her tune.

“As much as I wanted to flatten Wes this morning…” Tara stopped and shoved Faith against the wall. Jaw set, she said slowly and deliberately, “I really want to flatten _every single person_ who has ever told you to change who you are.”

A shiver worked up Faith’s spine. Tara’s eyes were solid blue, and Faith’s skin tingled from Tara’s burgeoning magic.

“Don’t you ever change, Faith Lehane. Not for me. Not for the Council. Not for anyone.” The words hit Faith in the chest and warmth exploded. “I happen to think you’re perfect just the way you are, and I’ll use my brand new ninja skills on anyone who doesn’t agree with me – including you.”

“You mean that?” The question was a pathetic plea.

One of Tara’s hands fisted, and Tara extended her arm until the fist rested against Faith’s solar plexus. “I’ll use this deadly Front Two Knuckle Punch right to your stomach.”

The wall at Faith’s back sucked at her. Or…something did. She felt strangely wobbly. Her knees had been removed and placed backward until her legs didn’t work right. The whole hallway swirled sickeningly for a second. “Anything but the Punch,” she choked out.

Tara’s grin anchored Faith. The world stopped spinning, but the warmth worming its way through her chest didn’t disappear. It continued to move through her body until it filled every nook and cranny. “Do you feel this powerful when you take on a vampire? One class, and I’m ready to take on the world for you.”

“Whoa, Tiger.” Faith fought the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. Her emotions were on a runaway roller coaster. First down, now up. “Jeez. Thought you’d paid attention in class. Peace before war.” She could _not_ believe she’d actually said that. Faith was just fine with war. “You don’t wanna hurt the townies with your new, mad skills.”

“Very true. I’m sorry. I guess all that aggression went right to my head.” Tara stepped back and held up her hands, fingers spread wide. “You and the citizens of Sunnydale are safe for another day.” With a wide, electric grin more suited to Willow after a dozen mochas, Tara resumed their trek to the main club room.

And Faith followed as if tethered to Tara. She was. Tethered. Because Tara grabbed Faith’s hand after a single step. “Shopping. The Trio – that’s what I call Brian, Trish, and Monica – gave me a gift card. New pair of boots?” Glancing over her shoulder, Tara winked. “Spreader bar?”

“Nah. Maybe some new bag gloves. Had to leave my favorite pair back at the House.” Faith played up to Tara’s teasing, flattening out the grin that seemed to permanently tilt her lips. “Guess I could use a new belt, too. You and them pancakes. You keep fixin’ shit like that, I’ll the first three-hundred pound Slayer and nothin’ll fit.”

“Liar,” Tara said, proving she was no dummy. She didn’t say more, though, because they’d reached the end of the hallway. It was a whole new world in the club. The empty play space was full; submissives and Dominants stood (or bent) at each piece of equipment.

Now the club was more familiar. It didn’t matter how high-class the club might be. The crack of whips and the screams and moans of willing submissives was universal. The sights and sounds disoriented Faith. Pulled her back to reality.

Her hand slipped from Tara’s. She drifted a few feet away as Tara returned the room key and settled up their bill. She maintained that distance even after Tara rejoined her. “I’ve never seen this place so crowded.” Tara frowned. Well, frowned as much as she ever did. Which wasn’t much. “Brian and I usually meet here when he’s on lunch or before the evening rush.”

“You come here a lot?” Now _Faith_ frowned. This was a nice place, but none of the skanks trolling the play area or slumped in the sub hangout were Tara’s style. Poser, brat, gym rat, bimbo. Faith examined each unpaired submissive and dismissed them immediately.

“Does four times count as a lot?” Tara dodged a male Dominant who strode past as if he owned the world.

Faith “accidentally” stepped into his path, jamming her shoulder painfully into his stomach. His grunt was music to her ears. “Think ya’ got to make at least six trips to be a lot. Red would know. Or Giles.”

“It might be hard to ask them. They can’t be anywhere near us, remember?” Tara got lost behind a giggling group of submissives, and Faith shoved her way through.

And stopped.

Tara stood at the edge of the play area with another woman. A submissive. A submissive who looked at Tara like a big piece of birthday cake. Too bad Faith had a sweet tooth. With a Slayer-enhanced bound, Faith crossed the final few feet. “Who’s your friend?”

Her tone brought Tara’s head around with inaudible snap.

Ignoring the narrow-eyed glare beaming her way, Faith crossed her arms over her chest. The move tightened her biceps and strained the arms of her skin-tight T-shirt.

“Faith,” Tara said softly. There was…something Faith couldn’t identify in that quiet warning. A quick glance at Tara’s expression didn’t help. “This is Mari.” With a wave, Tara indicated the other woman. “She’s a friend.”

A friend. A friend with benefits, no doubt. Faith widened her stance. Rolled onto the balls of her feet.

“Mari, this is my Faith.” Tara yanked at Faith’s right arm until she reluctantly relaxed her stance.

She wasn’t expecting the way Tara seized her hand. The move thrust their joined hands between Tara and Mari. The new leather cuff, with the weird mark burned into the surface, was prominently displayed.


	50. Chapter 50

The sub wilted when she saw Faith’s marker. “Oh. I…I’m sorry.”

Damned right. Faith met the woman’s gaze and openly smirked. _“Back off, bitch,”_ she thought, and had the pleasure of watching the submissive take a tiny step back. Slayers were scary. Faith straightened to her full height and flexed her muscles as much as Tara’s hold would allow.

“Oh, stop that.” Tara’s grin said she wasn’t upset by Faith’s possessive posturing. “Mari is a friend, Faith. You don’t give the Slayer Stare to friends.” Releasing Faith’s hand, Tara gestured to one of the semi-private alcoves. “Do you need to talk, sweetie? I told you the last time I was here that you could call me whenever you needed me.”

What? Faith’s eyes narrowed. Friendship was one thing, drinks in a bar or lunch at the DMP every once in a while. Midnight, anytime calls were not part of the deal. Not in Faith’s experience.

That irritating inner voice reminded her that Buffy and Willow called each all the fucking time. But the voice could shut up. Tara wasn’t calling _anyone,_ and she wasn’t _getting_ calls, either. Not while Faith was in the picture.

Mari was smarter than she looked. “No, Ma’am. I’m fine.”

It was a lie. Faith could see that. The other woman had that “I hate my life and everyone in it” expression. Faith was familiar with that expression. She had seen it in the mirror every day. Tara must have noticed the lie, too. With a sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Faith almost felt sorry for Mari. Tara was about to go all Lady Tara. Sure enough, Tara murmured a cool, “Why don’t we all have a seat over there?” She pointed to a love seat and chair combination a few feet away.

No one disobeyed Tara when she used that voice. Well, Faith wouldn’t. And she could see that Mari didn’t want to, either. She did, though. She held firm, jerking her chin up and shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

Tilting her head, Tara regarded Mari thoughtfully. Faith remembered Tara doing that before. With her. At the House. In her apartment. Could Tara see through Mari the way she usually saw through Faith? Probably. Faith figured the quiet sigh and the slump to Tara’s shoulders indicated she had accepted Mari’s rejection. “Stubborn sub.” Her glance shifted to Faith. “Subs.”

Hey now. There was no need to be mean. Faith tried to hide her scowl yet knew she had failed miserably when Tara sighed again.

“Mari, I meant what I said the day we met. Anytime you need to talk, call me.” Tara waited (and waited) until Mari bowed her head. That stare was horrible. Faith knew just how Mari felt. Tara waited while Mari wiggled in place and clenched her hands into fists. “Good night, sweetie. Be careful.”

When Tara seized Faith’s hand and turned away, Faith didn’t gloat. Much. Tara seemed really upset. Her grip was tight, almost desperate, so Faith bit her lip against the discomfort and followed Tara out of the club. It was dark. Not a surprise since they hadn’t left the Bond Registration Office until right before it closed. There were still people on the sidewalk, and the storefronts were bright as they wandered down the street.

Tara didn’t say anything. Faith glanced at her. Should she say something? She didn’t want to sound like Willow, gabbing when everyone around her was good with the quiet. After quick, pointless stops to stare into two stores, Faith couldn’t take it anymore. Confronted with a creepy, headless mannequin wearing an uncomfortable-looking corset around its torso, Faith muttered, “Some people ain’t good at talkin’.”

Damned if Tara didn’t roll her eyes. “Really, my Slayer? How would you know? Do you have experience with the strong, silent type?”

Sarcasm sucked. Especially when it was leveled by an innocent-looking witch. Faith refused to respond for at least two seconds. “You always been so mean? That sweet shy Tara’s just an act, huh?”

“I don’t feel shy with you, my Faith.” Faith was surprised by Tara’s sudden intensity. It eclipsed their previously playful exchange. “For some reason, I know you won’t make fun of me. You make me feel powerful. The stutter goes away and I only want to hide behind my hair every few minutes.” Her half smile eased some of Faith’s nerves. This was the Tara she loved.

Loved. What the fuck?

Tara noticed everything. The smile froze before falling away. “Faith?”

“You don’t…don’t want to hide? Ever?” Faith couldn’t believe the quiver in her voice. She sounded five. A very lost, scared five, at that.

“Never with you, my Faith.” Tara settled a hand at the nape of Faith’s neck. The warm touch pushed Faith’s fears and doubts aside, made her crazy idea about love slip into the background. “I won’t ever hide from you. Whatever you need, ask. I’ll do my best to give you the moon, if that’s what you need.”

Could Faith make the same promise? Would she ever be able to give Tara what she needed? “Tara,” she started and then fell silent. No. No way. Faith couldn’t do it. Her mind blanked.

“Right now, I think you need to loosen up and shop.” Tara stepped away but kept a hand on Faith’s arm just above her marker. “You’re too tense. This is supposed to be fun. We wander down the street and look at things we really don’t need or could never afford. And I promised you dinner, remember?”

Proving there was at least _one_ thing Faith could do for Tara, Faith hopped down the sidewalk the way Willow usually did. “Who’s tense? Not me.”

Tara’s laughter filled Faith’s soul and made everyone walking by smile in response.

***

Keeping up with Faith’s emotional shifts was exhausting. It was worth it, though. Especially with those dimples on display as Faith Tigger-hopped down the sidewalk at her side. She was like a big kid. Tara’s big kid.

It was harder now to remember the claiming had been an act. Faith wore Tara’s marker. She’d openly flaunted that marker for Mari in what Tara hoped was a display of jealousy. Tara led them from window to window. Sunnydale wasn’t big on shopping, and most of the displays got a grunt from Faith. Tara didn’t grunt. Exactly. Except when she imitated Faith just to see the way Faith’s eyes narrowed in mock insult. “What? I can’t even pretend to need a gaudy gold watch,” she asked. “I thought you’d understand that. Unless you want one. Is that it? Should I make a mental note to come back here when you aren’t with me?”

Faith leaned closer to the window. So close her cheek brushed Tara’s. Tara shivered in response. “I like that one,” Faith murmured. She pointed at a watch with a massive face and a flashing digital display.

It would dwarf Faith’s wrist. Tara played along, though. “Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s kind of small.”

“Only one that ain’t got diamonds and shit. Can you see me killin’ a vamp with some flashy watch on?” Faith held out her bare left wrist, twisting and turning it as if she wore the watch in question.

“I understand Buffy Slays in heels. How are diamond watches different?” Poor Buffy. Tara almost felt sorry for making fun of her behind her back.

Faith didn’t appear to mind. She chuckled. “Got a point. Let’s see if there’s somethin’ else.” She towed Tara down the sidewalk. “You like shoes?”

The next window was filled with high-heeled shoes. Shoes with high, _really_ high, heels. Tara would kill herself in any of those.

“They’d go perfect with that leather thing that’d shove your boobs up.” Faith mimed the action with her hands and her own breasts as models.

Goddess. Tara wasn’t wearing either the corset _or_ the heels. But she could easily imagine Faith’s breasts spilling over the edge of the leather cups. “Did you know,” she asked in a voice she barely recognized as her own, “that most Dominants don’t let their submissives wear more clothing than they do?” It had been in an article Brian had emailed her from _Leather and Lace_ , a popular Dominance magazine. An opinion on keeping the submissive’s mind on their “status” by emphasizing it by keeping them barely clothed. Tara had hated it until that every moment.

“You put that on, T, and I won’t bitch at bein’ naked.” Faith met Tara’s eyes in their joint reflection in the shop window. “Besides, you had on a lot less earlier.”

“You _do_ know that was a first for me, don’t you?” Tara wasn’t afraid to admit that to Faith.

“It was fuckin’ awesome,” Faith responded. She turned to Tara, her lips hovering near the sensitive skin of Tara’s neck. “You did that for me, didn’t ya’?” Warm breath caressed Tara until she burned. “That what you meant? You’d do things for me?”

Reaching out, Tara dragged Faith closer. “All kinds of things, my Faith.” Pressure built around the link. From Faith’s side. Tara bit her lip and refused to so much as peek through the conduit. Faith had not changed her mind; she had not given Tara permission to take down the barricade.

There was a heart-breaking vulnerability in Faith’s expression. “No one ever…”

“I will.” No matter what Faith needed. No matter the personal cost. Tara would do whatever Faith needed. “I’d even wear a pair of those shoes and that horrible corset,” she vowed.

“Eat cold pizza and watch football in bed?” Faith teased, a dimple creasing her left cheek.

Tara nodded. “Even that.” Anything to keep that almost-smile on Faith’s face and in her eyes. “Who cares about crumbs?” Or that cold, congealed cheese would clog their arteries? Leaning against Faith, Tara soaked up her warmth and strength as they passed a few more windows. They were running out of stores. Maybe it was time to stop checking out overpriced junk and get something to eat.

That’s when she saw the display for Collars and Cuffs. Faith must have seen it, too. She stiffened against Tara’s side. Even knowing Faith wasn’t ready (would never be ready) for a collar, Tara drifted closer. She automatically discounted the thick leather collar studded with emeralds. Faith wasn’t as rough and tough as everyone thought. She didn’t need a big, nasty collar.

The delicate platinum collar, though, was perfect. Less than an inch wide and made of interlocking rings like a suit of mail, it would highlight the length of Faith’s neck. Tara could feel the matching Dominant cuff close around her wrist.

Bitterness threatened to drown Tara. She’d never wear that marker – just like Faith would never wear her collar. “I think I’ve shopped enough for one night. How about we find someplace to eat?”

Faith didn’t respond right away.

“Are you tired, my Slayer?” It was so easy to forget that Faith had been badly hurt just last night. “We can go home. I’ll fix us something and then tuck you in.” Alone. The way Tara would be - alone.

“You want it, don’t you?” Faith’s question was abrupt. Tara wasn’t sure what she meant until Faith pointed at the window display. “You want me to wear one of those.”

So much. “Only if you want it, too.” Tara forced the next comment out. “And you don’t. I know that, sweetie.”

Faith considered that, eyes locked on Tara. “You wouldn’t force me.”

It didn’t feel like a question so Tara simply waited. People moved around them on the sidewalk, probably thinking they were actually shopping for a collar. If only life were that simple and straightforward.

“Why not?” Faith was full of impossible to answer questions. “You’re a Domme. Ain’t you supposed to get off on that shit?” Each word dripped with aggression and anger. It was clear Faith had only ever experienced one type of Domination.

“I could, I guess.” Tara shrugged. “If I really wanted to put you on your knees, lock you in a collar and a loveless relationship, I could.” Her father had done that to her mother. “Your Slayer strength is no match for magic and my Dominance.”

Her words were a challenge. Faith’s head came up, eyes hardening.

“You don’t believe me?” Where had that tone come from? Tara was horrified at the cold, cutting sound in her question. She was _not_ putting Faith on her knees to prove a point. A completely irrelevant point. “It doesn’t matter,” she said with complete honesty. “I won’t do it. I won’t force you to submit to me unless that’s something we both want.” Some sliver of hope made her continue. “Have you changed your mind, my Faith? Would you _like_ me to wrap that collar,” that delicate collar, “around your neck so that every Dominant knew you were mine alone?”

Tara expected a fast, furious denial. Instead, Faith stared at her.

The silence was an invitation. Tara thought it was. She slid forward and stroked a finger across Faith’s neck. “You’re mine, Faith. The collar is only a symbol for what we both already know. We belong together.”

Faith’s eyes slid closed, and her head dropped forward.

_Yes!_ Tara raised her other hand until both thumbs settled in the hollow of Faith’s throat, right where a lock would dangle. “Say the word, Faith. Ask me, and I’ll mark you as mine.” She felt Faith’s heart racing; Faith’s pulse pounded under Tara’s fingers and palms.

When Faith’s eyes sprang open, her pupils were mere pinpricks and they stared through Tara. “Let me go.” Not a shout or angry refusal. A tiny plea instead. “No. I won’t…”

Victory turned to ashes. Tara knew in that very instant. She carefully and slowly dropped her hands. “Look at me, sweetie.” A request from one friend to another. No Dominance at all.

“Let me go.” Even though Tara no longer held her, Faith twisted as if bound. “I told ya’ to let me go.” Faith’s husky voice was tight and high with fear.

“It’s OK, Faith. _You’re_ OK. Look at me!” Now Tara commanded. She had to break whatever nightmare held Faith in its thrall. Not wanting to startle Faith, she didn’t reach out physically. Tara talked. Soft at first, pleading. Then ordering again. “Please, Faith. Look at me. Just at me. No one will hurt you.”

Faith remained stiff for a minute. Finally, though, Tara saw her blink and focus.

“That’s it, sweetie. You’re back with me.” Thank the Goddess. Tara never wanted to see that terrified look in Faith’s eyes again. “Come on. Let’s go home.” No way could Tara eat now. And Faith needed a chance to recover without the prying eyes of passersby. “I make pretty decent fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Real ones, not the flakes from the box. We’ll have a quiet night at home.” 


	51. Chapter 51

Tara rinsed the last plate and set it carefully in the drainer with the others. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Trish and Maxie had stayed at Monica’s again. They’d wanted to give Tara and Faith privacy to celebrate the claiming. It didn’t make sense. Trish and Maxie knew the claim was only for appearances.

If Faith’s actions when they had returned home were any indication, the claim wouldn’t last another day.

_“I ain’t hungry.” Slouching in the kitchen chair, Faith kept her eyes on the table. “Just wanna head out for a while.”_

_Head out. Leave? Tara clenched her hands in the dishtowel to avoid grabbing onto Faith and never letting go. “Is that a good idea? I know Buffy said Mr. Giles had gotten a restraining order; I just don’t trust Wes not to send a Team after you anyway.”_

_“You tellin’ me I can’t go?” Faith finally glanced up, and Tara sighed. Faith appeared ready for a fight. If Tara pulled the Dominant card, she might never convince Faith to come back. “This a prison? You gonna chain me up?”_

_“Of course not, Faith. You’re free to go out any time.” Tara pretended to hunt in the pantry for ingredients for dinner. Staring at a can of green beans didn’t prevent her from hearing Faith leave the kitchen. Picking up a bag of baking potatoes didn’t drown out the resolute thump of the front door as it closed._

Faith had been gone for over two hours now. Long enough for Tara to fry every scrap of chicken in the house and make a vat of mashed potatoes. She’d scrubbed the dishes, counters, and floor. Silence enveloped her. Tara used to love the peace and quiet of her solitary dorm room. Now, though, the quiet was…too quiet. She jumped at every creak and groan of the old house. Turning the television on didn’t help. It only emphasized how very alone she was.

_The farmhouse had never felt so empty. Tara pulled her knees in tight to her chest and rested her head on her knees. It had been like this since…since… She couldn’t complete the thought. That would make the situation all too real. Mama had always told her that naming a thing, thinking it all the way to its logical conclusion, would bring a thing to life. Would give it form and function. It was the way of magic._

_The situation was real all on its own. Tara knew it. The quiet house **screamed** it. Mama was gone. She’d never forget the sound, like dry twigs snapping, as her father shook her mother. Or the immediate loss of life and laughter in her mother’s eyes. The way her mother’s body had fallen to the floor, unmoving until her father kicked her mother’s body, sliding it across the room a few inches._

Desperate for something, _anything_ to keep the memories at bay, Tara dropped to the living room floor in full lotus. Faith was out on her own. She was vulnerable to the Council and to the Mayor, no matter how super her Slayer powers were. Tara had extended her personal shields for Faith at the claiming ceremony. She needed to make that a permanent fixture.

There was no Circle this time. No big Magickal ritual. Tara simply closed her eyes and searched for Faith. The bond helped with location. So did the lingering magical energy from earlier in the day. It acted as a beacon for Tara to follow. With quick efficiency, Tara peeled layers from her own shields and grafted them onto Faith.

The sudden drain on Tara’s magical reservoirs left her dizzy. She swayed where she sat and had to put her hands onto the floor to remain upright. The light-headedness eventually faded into bone-deep exhaustion. It was a small price to pay for keeping Faith safe. The shields weren’t strong enough to stop a knife thrust (not like she’d once implied to Buffy). However, they might slow an attacker down long enough for Faith to protect herself. Increasing the odds of Faith’s survival was worth any residual personal weakness.

She stayed on the floor for a few more minutes. Not exactly meditating. Just floating, checking her channels, and watching the link in case Faith reached for her.

Faith didn’t reach, of course. Tara climbed to her feet and flopped onto the couch. Before she had time to do more than think about pulling her hair out in frustration, the phone on the end table rang. To answer or not to answer? Tara stared at the handset through three rings. One more and the answering machine would kick in.

If it were Trish or Monica, they’d probably think something terrible had happened and call the police. Tara snagged the phone. “Hello.”

“Tara?” Joyce sounded hesitant. “Is this a good time?”

Maybe Tara had spent too much time with Faith. She had to bite back a sarcastic, “No. I have Faith chained and dangling from the ceiling. Can you call back in the morning?” Clearing her throat (and pushing away that very distracting image), Tara murmured, “Sure. What can I do for you, Mrs. Summers?”

Voices provided background noise as Joyce said, “We’ve been researching the Mayor. I know you can’t come here, but… Well… we wanted to share what we have. Willow and Janna thought you might have an idea where to go from here.” Joyce paused, and Tara waited her out. After all, Tara had found nothing in the books she brought home from the House. And Joyce hadn’t given her anything to build a plan from. “We’d like to ask Faith some questions, too.”

That was more than likely the real reason for the call. Tara sat up, gripping the phone so tightly her fingers ached. “Really?” There was a dangerous edge to her voice. “The same Faith the Council wants to deactivate? The same one the Council has treated like trash ever since Boston?”

“You know I don’t feel that way.” Joyce didn’t back down. “I’ve _never_ been on the Council’s side when it came to Faith. And right now, I am absolutely sure she’s got information we need.”

The quiet, calm response doused Tara’s anger. Joyce was right. She and Giles had both provided all the information they’d had regarding Faith’s past. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, but Faith isn’t here right now, Joyce.” To avoid having to explain she didn’t know where her bonded submissive was, Tara took control of the conversation. “What did you find out?”

***

Wandering through downtown, Faith stared up at the stars. They twinkled back at her just like the words of the children’s song. They didn’t do a damned thing to help Faith solve her problem, though. What was she going to do about Tara? Or the Mayor? Or the Council? The leather claiming marker was tight around Faith’s wrist. She’d asked Tara to claim her. For show, sure. But she _had_ asked for it.

Faith _hadn’t_ asked for a collar. In fact, she’d been clear she never wanted one and that the whole bond thing was temporary. Tara had known that. Why had Tara’s comments outside Collar and Cuffs bothered Faith so much, then?

_“Would you like me to wrap that collar around your neck so every Dominant knew you were mine alone?”_ The words. The feel of Tara’s finger stroking her neck a heartbeat later. They’d turned Faith’s knees to rubber and her mind blank.

So blank she had been ready to say “yes.” Hell, Faith was still ready to say “yes.” And that scared her. Scared her so bad she’d freaked out in front of Tara. She’d never forget the sing-song voice Tara had used with her. Like she was a little kid or a stray dog. It had been humiliating.

Nice, though. Faith sighed rubbed her eyes. Having Tara worry about her, care for her was nice. More than nice.

The lights of downtown drew her eye. She’d managed to retrace her trip with Tara. Faith gave in – and walked right up to the display window at Collar and Cuffs. Tara had stared at the display, and her eyes had darkened. The same way they did when she looked at Faith and unleashed her Dominance.

What had Tara seen when she’d stared into that window? Collars and cuffs. Duh. Leaning into the glass, Faith peered more closely. Could she wear any of the items on display? Or would the click of a lock as any of the overpriced collars closed around her neck send her running right out of Sunnydale?

“See something you like?” The Mayor’s voice sent Faith into a defensive crouch. Then he smiled, nothing more than a baring of teeth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Of course he hadn’t. Faith cursed her stupidity. She’d been daydreaming about wearing Tara’s collar, and she’d stopped paying attention. “I’m good. Just worried, ya’ know? Didn’t want to stake you by accident.” The verbiage wasn’t planned. She saw the Mayor react; he jerked and his lips tightened. Faith thought for a second _she_ might pass out when what she said hit home.

“Well, yes. That would be tragic.” The Mayor’s eyes glittered with terrible amusement. “I doubt even Mr. Giles and his restraining order would keep the Council from deactivating you after a second accidental killing.” Then he threw back his head, laugh booming through the quiet night. “Wait. I forgot. You can’t kill me. We’re safe.”

The Mayor hadn’t forgotten. Neither had Faith. “Good to know.”

In a lightning change of mood, he snapped, “Who else knows? That witch you’re bonded to?”

“Tara?” Faith shook her head “She don’t know nothing.” She’d never even thought of telling Tara. And Tara had never asked. Why? Why hadn’t Tara asked? She worked for the Council. They had to be frantically researching Balthazar and the box Faith had been after at the airport.

“You expect me to believe that?” The Mayor advanced on Faith. “It’s been centuries since I was bonded, but I know she’s in your mind now. That witch knows all your secrets. Why should I believe she doesn’t know mine, too?”

Shrinking away, Faith stared at the Mayor. She had to think. Something about this didn’t make sense. “’Cause she ain’t asked, Boss,” she said. Boss. Her special title for the Mayor. Her way, now, to see just what he knew about Tara and her true relationship to Faith.

She surprised him. Faith caught the flicker of his eyelid and heard his indrawn breath. “Really? Well, I’m sure you’ve had other things to talk about.”

“Nah.” Faith played down to the expectations he’d had for her. “Haven’t done much talkin’ at all.” Her smirk felt wrong; she was disgusted at her own behavior. But she didn’t let that stop her.

The Mayor didn’t respond to her comment. He stared at her until she shoved her hands in her pockets and leaned against the window to avoid fidgeting. “You haven’t told her about the ritual? You’re lying,” he accused.

“The Hell I am,” Faith fired back. He had no room to call her a liar. The Mayor wanted to be a demon. That trumped a little white lie any day. “Tara never asked. She said she only joined the Council to be next to me.” That still gave Faith a thrill. “Why would Tara help the Council now anyway?”

Looming over her, the Mayor considered her claims. Faith glared back at him and fought to conceal her fear. She’d never thought about how her bond with Tara might look. Faith knew all his dirty secrets. Or…at least some of them. Tara worked for the Council. If Faith told Tara anything she’d seen while she worked for the Mayor…

Tara was a bigger threat to the Mayor than Faith had ever been on her own. The Council would listen to Tara. They’d go after the Mayor with everything they had if she passed on information Faith provided. And Faith had killer information.

The Mayor had seen something in her expression. Sensed her changing emotions. Moving closer, the Mayor whispered, “Ah. Young love. I didn’t think it existed anymore. And I never thought I’d see it in you, Faith. Love makes you vulnerable. I bet you’d do anything to protect your Dominant, wouldn’t you? Even keep my secret?” He touched her cheek, and Faith stiffened. She refused to flinch away. “Do you know what would happen if you said anything? Hmm?”

Faith held his gaze with every ounce of bravado she could muster. “If I tell her, you’d better start runnin’, _Dick_. She’d magically fry your ass.” She expected him to laugh. He’d survived being cut in half. Magic wasn’t nearly as brutal in Faith’s experience.

But the Mayor didn’t laugh. He reared back as if Faith had hit him. Then he turned mean. “You better watch out for your Tara, Faith. It would be terrible if something happened to her.”

“You fuckin’ _look_ at her, and I’ll kill you,” Faith vowed. She’d find a way.

Now the Mayor laughed. “I’m utterly terrified.”

He wasn’t. _Faith,_ though, was more afraid than she’d ever been. Not for herself. For Tara. And Faith suspected the Mayor knew that. Was counting on it. “Always figured you were smart.” Too smart. Way too fucking smart for Faith.

“I am.” The Mayor took a step back and then lunged forward. He tried to grab Faith’s arm. Tried but didn’t immediately succeed. As his hand got closed to Faith, they…slowed. With a snarl, he pushed through, but he’d lost his edge.

Faith used that extra time to pull away. As she did, a mild electric buzz wrapped around her. The buzz warmed Faith; there was a touch of Tara in the energy. Faith scanned the street and then her mind. No Tara in either location. Now that Faith was looking, though, she sensed the magic surrounding her.

Tara had promised to protect her. Damned if the crazy witch hadn’t found a way to do it – without using her new-found ninja skills. The magical pulse around Faith was nothing compared to the warm glow in Faith’s heart. Tara hadn’t been lying. She’d promised to protect Faith, and she had. Faith regarded the Mayor with a cocky smile.

The smile pushed the Mayor’s button. The _wrong_ button. “You and your witch will regret that, Faith. Your incompetence has already threatened my Ascension. I won’t allow you or that bitch you’ve bonded with to get in my way.” He didn’t try to touch Faith a second time. That didn’t mean Faith felt safe and secure anymore. There was an unnatural glow in his eyes. “You’ll keep your mouth shut about what you know, or your witch will pay the price.”

Faith’s smile disappeared. “You won’t get anywhere near her.” Swords might not work on the Mayor, but something else surely would. She’d take pleasure in finding just the right weapon.

“How will you keep me away from her?” The Mayor taunted. “I’m invincible. Remember that, Faith. There is nothing you can do to stop me.” He stepped back and gave a jaunty wave. “Enjoy your late night stroll and do give my regards to Ms. Maclay when you go home.” He turned his back to Faith and strolled away.

The Mayor had turned his back on her. He didn’t think Faith was a threat. Was she? Faith had been at the ritual. She’d seen him survive that vampire’s attack. The Mayor was right. He was safe from Faith. She’d never be able to stop him if he went after Tara.


	52. Chapter 52

Faith watched the Mayor’s car pull away from the curb. She stayed there until it was out of sight – and then waited some more in case he came back. He didn’t. Hell, he didn’t need to. The Mayor was a better button pusher than Faith would ever be. In one short conversation, he’d found all of Faith’s weak spots. “All” of them. What a joke.

There was only one weak spot - her name was Tara.

How had this happened? How had Tara become so important? Faith needed to go home. She had to tell Tara about the Mayor. Every breath drove Faith’s anxiety higher. She didn’t give in, though. Telling Tara about the Mayor was the whole reason Tara was a target. There was no way Faith could admit the Mayor’s threats. If she did, the Mayor wouldn’t stop with a verbal threat. He’d turn Trick or Zajicek loose on the only person Faith have ever given a damn about.

It was a classic catch-22.

With a snarl, Faith spun back to the Collar and Cuffs display window, fist raised to smash the glass in sheer frustration. But the Dominant and submissive markers sparkling in the window lights weren’t to blame for her current situation. Faith’s hand dropped limply to her side.

_She_ was to blame. Faith stared at her vague reflection in the glass. That girl right there. That girl had caused every single one of her problems. And somehow that same girl would have to solve them, too.

“How?” Faith asked out loud.

Her reflection didn’t answer. Faith dropped her head forward until it rested against the cold windowpane. Protecting Tara was her first order of business. If Tara wasn’t safe, nothing else mattered.

The Council and the Mayor were enemies now. Although… Was it really the Council or just Wes and his stuffed-shirt friends? Buffy had passed up multiple opportunities to kill Faith during their fight. Giles had gotten a restraining order so the Council wouldn’t continue to stalk Faith.

Still, what if Faith was wrong? What if Buffy and Giles _were_ part of the Council after Faith? It wasn’t worth the risk to find out. Not with Faith’s and Tara’s lives in the balance. So Faith would steer clear of Buffy and her team; she’d keep an eye out for the Retrieval Team and Wes because the Council would eventually find a way around the restraining order.

That meant the Mayor had shot to the top of the “threat list”. He was the greatest danger because he believed Faith might tell Tara something that would help Tara beat him. It just didn’t make sense. Faith pushed away from the window and resumed walking. Why was the Mayor afraid of Tara? Her magic? Her connection to the Council? Faith’s mind ran like a hamster on the wheel – and got almost as far.

Faith gave up and focused on another puzzle: keeping Tara safe. There had to be a way to keep the Mayor away. Faith would keep walking until she found it.

***

“What are you going to do?” Trish stuffed her textbooks into her backpack and grabbed a warm brownie off the kitchen counter.

Tara concentrated on cleaning the wire whisk. Leaving food on the utensils was unsanitary.

Unfortunately, having her hands in warm, soapy water left Tara vulnerable. Trish crowded into Tara’s personal space, pinning her against the sink. “It’s a party, Tar. All I need to know is how many people we’re allowed to invite and whether you’re going to register somewhere. You _have_ to decide in the next ten minutes. I’m already running late to meet my study group at the library.”

“You don’t really need a study group, do you? You’re always quoting some law or case information.” Tara tried to wiggle free, but Trish placed her hands on the rim of the sink. Unless Tara wanted to test out her new fighting skills, she was stuck. “I don’t want a party,” she said softly. “The claim…you know we…”

“Stop! Don’t you lie to me, Tara Maclay. You keep saying the claim is just to keep the Council off your back. I know better. I _saw_ you and Faith yesterday. The whole damned Bond Registration Office heated up when you kissed her. And on the street? Come on. The claim is real. I’ve got a bet on how long it takes for you to replace Faith’s cuff with a collar.”

That would never happen. Tara remembered the expression in Faith’s eyes. Complete terror. And Faith had been out alone until the early hours this morning.

_The door inched open slowly, and Faith slipped inside. Tara saw her, of course. She’d been waiting up…researching information on the Mayor in the living room. “Sweetie?” Tara cautioned herself not to push. Not to scream at Faith that she’d been worried about her. “Did you have dinner while you were out? I made fried chicken.” Just like she’d mentioned on their way home after the ceremony._

_“Ain’t hungry.” Faith hesitated. Her eyes darted from Tara to the hallway and back._

_Tara tossed the book on her lap aside. “What’s wrong?” No more beating around the bush. Slayers were never “not hungry”. “What happened tonight? I felt the shields I put on you flare.” Her voice crackled with authority. If the Council had broken the restraining order, Tara would flatten Watcher Wes with a single wave of her hand._

_The Dominant tone got an immediate reaction from Faith. Her head dipped. “I’m fine, Tara. Nothin’ happened.” Then the muscles in Faith’s cheeks tightened until the bones stood out through the skin. Her head came up defiantly. “Thought you said this wasn’t like jail. You sure are actin’ like a Warden. They put that shit in your contract with the Council? Shields? Now you’re waiting up for me. I didn’t sign on for that. We’re just puttin’ on a show, right?”_

The conversation had gone downhill from there. Tara gave up on the whisk and shoved it under the tap to rinse it. “I don’t want you or anyone to buy gifts we’ll have to take back once the Council and the Mayor are gone.” The Mayor. Goddess, that was a worry for later after Trish finally left.

“We’ll buy them anyway.” Pressing a quick kiss to the side of Tara’s head, Trish stepped back and looped her backpack over one shoulder. “The claim will last, Tar. Trust me. I know a solid bonding when I see one.” Her voice grew teasing. “So does anyone who witnessed your Dominant display on the street yesterday.”

Trish waited for Tara to comment. Tara didn’t. What more could she say? She couldn’t share in everyone’s hope and optimism. Their belief in Fate and the perfect bonding. Tara knew the truth. When the Council and the Mayor were neutralized, Faith would turn her back and walk away without a second glance.

“You don’t have to register anywhere. You get more creative gifts that way anyway.” Trish didn’t give up. She touched Tara’s shoulder lightly before turning away. “Don’t forget we’re partying at Top of the World. Eight sharp. I’ll let Max call in the cavalry if you and Faith are even a minute late for the festivities.”

If only she’d never started this charade in the first place. If only the Council and the Mayor weren’t watching them so closely. Goddess, this was such a horrible mistake. Tara wouldn’t force to make good on her threat, though. Maxie and the Marines wouldn’t be necessary. “We’ll be there,” she promised softly.

“I knew you would be. No one wants Maxie to come hunting them. It’s part of her charm,” Trish said just before the front door closed behind her.

Tara had longed for privacy since Faith had walked out the night before. Tara had wanted…no, needed to be alone to brood. Now that Trish was gone (and Faith was home and hiding in her room), the house echoed with loneliness.

_Wind whistled around the dorm. Tara huddled under a blanket with every candle she owned fluttering in the darkened room. Snatches of conversation from the hallway vied with the booming bass of a rap song next door._

_A building filled with people, and Tara was just as alone as she’d been on the farm. More alone. Because her mother wasn’t in the kitchen baking or even kneeling in her cage. Tara pulled her knees tighter to her chest. She hated it here. Freedom wasn’t what she’d thought. It was scary. Loud. And so very lonely._

_Why had Tara ever thought she could get away? She’d simply changed one solitary prison for another._

Slamming her hands on the counter, Tara forced the memory back. She wasn’t a scared, lonely girl anymore. Thanks to Althenea’s prodding, Tara was a real Dominant with a real submissive who needed her. Tara had friends now. A job, if the Council ever stopped hunting her and Faith.

She squared her shoulders. Running away wasn’t an option now. This was no different than admitting her past to Trish or facing the Trial. Tara would face the party in a few hours and Faith’s inevitable repudiation for one reason: because that was what Faith needed from her.

With determination in every stride, Tara walked down the hall and rapped on Faith’s door.

It sprang open immediately. “What?” This wasn’t the Faith from the claiming ceremony. This was the Faith the Council punished for her attitude and poor behavior. She glared at Tara, arms crossed over her chest in open challenge.

“I have a meeting,” Tara told her coolly. Every fiber of her being responded to the poorly disguised misery in Faith’s eyes. How could anyone not see Faith’s cocky smirk was an act? Tara _ached_ to hold her the way Faith had held her last night in the club. She didn’t, though. She gripped her self-control with desperate strength. “The claiming party is tonight.”

Faith didn’t let Tara finish. “I heard.

“H-How much…” Oh, Goddess. Had Faith heard everything? All the moaning and whining about Faith and the bond?

“All of it.” Of course she had. “Glad you’re finally admittin’ the bond ain’t gonna last,” Faith said. “Better for both of us.”

Tara nodded. It was the best she could do. There was no way she would ever be able to truly agree with Faith’s statement. “I’ll see you at eight, then.” Tara started to turn away and paused, pulled by a need so strong it eclipsed everything. “If you go out, be careful, my Faith.” Her palm found a home against Faith’s cheek, and she stroked a thumb over Faith’s lips. “It would kill me if anything happened to you.”

The hard lines of Faith’s face softened. Her eyes warmed. “T…”

“Be careful.” Tara turned the gentle warning into a command. Maybe it would have enough force to make a difference. With a final caress, Tara turned and walked away.

***

Joyce must have been watching for her. The front door to the Summers’ home sprang open before Tara made it up the porch steps. “Hurry inside.” She scanned the sidewalk before quickly closing the door behind Tara. “I see you still have your new friend.”

“He followed me all the way here.” Just far enough back not to break the restraining order. “Are you s-sure this is a good idea?” Tara didn’t follow Joyce farther into the house. She stayed in the foyer. This was a terrible plan. “I’ll just leave Giles’ books here and go.”

“Honey, you’re already here. The damage, if there is any, is already done.” Joyce came back and wrapped an arm around Tara’s shoulders. It gave her leverage which she used to pull Tara into the living room. “Besides, technically I’m not part of the Council. I’m only a volunteer who owns an art gallery. As long as Buffy and Rupert aren’t here, I’m not violating anything.”

Nothing except Tara’s personal space.

“Neither is Willow,” Joyce continued when Tara dug her heels into the carpet at the sight of the other witch.

“Joyce, you said you wanted to talk about the Mayor. About what you’d learned.” There had been nothing in that brief phone call the previous night to indicate Joyce was planning her own research party.

Unfortunately, Joyce was a force of Nature. Tara ended up on the couch right next to Willow. “We’ve learned a lot, Tara,” Willow said earnestly. “But it’s an incomplete picture. We were hoping you could help us fill in some of the gaps.” Shoving her laptop at Tara, she pointed to the information on the screen. “See? We think this is the ritual the Mayor was working on after looking at the box he had delivered to the airport. The Box of Gavrok.”

Tuning out the rest of Willow’s explanation, Tara concentrated on the website Willow had displayed. Some of the article was familiar from her previous research sessions. The rest was mind blowing. It was all guesswork. Whoever had written the article had no proof. But he or she had a vivid imagination. “This…this shouldn’t be possible.”

“That’s what I thought until we opened that creepy Box.” Willow’s shudder drew Tara’s attention. “Spiders. It was filled with spiders. Big, nasty ones that moved _really_ fast.”

Spiders. Tara went back to the online article. “’Eating certain species of demons is said to speed the process of preparing the host for the transformation.’”

“Spider demons? Transformation?” Willow gazed imploringly at Tara. “That’s what we can’t figure out.”

Tara stared back at her in confusion. How was she supposed to know? She might be able to make a potion or cast a spell. That was it. “Willow, I don’t know anything about people becoming demons.”

Now Willow’s eyes shifted. She wiggled and twitched. Cleared her throat. It didn’t take a genius or a Super Dominant to figure out Willow was hiding something. Leaning forward, Tara murmured, “You have a plan, don’t you?” and had the satisfaction of seeing Willow flinch. “A plan that you need me for. Isn’t that right?” Her quiet voice didn’t disguise the snap to the final question.

“Yes.” The word seemed dragged out of Willow. She didn’t _want_ to tell Tara for some reason, yet she couldn’t hold out against Tara’s Dominance.

“What do you think I can do, Willow?” Tara kept her voice low, but infused it with every bit of her bottled fear and frustration. She was tired of being a pawn, and now even Willow, her first _friend_ from the House, wanted to use her.

The truth was worse than Tara could have possibly imagined. “You…you can’t do anything. But Faith can.” Willow managed to drag her eyes up to meet Tara’s for a second. “She works…”

“ _Worked_ ,” Tara snapped, her control slipping. “Faith _worked_ for the Mayor. Past tense.”

“Enough! Both of you!” Joyce was miles beyond Tara on the Dominance scale. Tara shuddered under the force of the words while Willow took to her knees on the floor. “This isn’t solving anything. Tara, honey, we hoped you would ask Faith to help us. To tell us what she might know about the Mayor.”

***

Faith’s lungs burned. Even Wes would have been impressed with her speed and endurance. After Tara left, Faith had fled the house. She needed to move, to run, to feel _free._ Running hadn’t worked. Faith had been trapped by life since birth. Her mother, the Council, and the Mayor. They’d controlled her. Used her.

Now Faith was trapped by her own choices. _She’d_ gone to the Mayor. _She’d_ told Tara to claim her. And those two decisions had put Tara in danger.

She just didn’t know how to fix it. Not yet.

Faith needed to think. _Good_ thinking required a vampire or demon to kill – or a good heavy bag. Trish and Maxie weren’t the physical type. They didn’t have a set of weights, let alone a bag. Altering course, Faith cruised through town to the dojo. Plenty of bags and willing sparring partners there.

“Welcome back, Faith.” The lead instructor (Faith couldn’t remember his name) sat behind the desk in the entry hall. “Are you and your Dominant here for class? I’m afraid the adult class isn’t for another hour.” Faith’s scowl was automatic – and it made the instructor laugh. “It’s not that bad. The Tiger Cubs have a lot of enthusiasm. Come on. you’re trained enough to help out. I could use an extra instructor tonight.”

He was crazy. “I ain’t good enough to teach.”

“Really?” Despite the glittering sterling silver collar around his neck, the guy didn’t back down for shit. He maneuvered Faith to the door of the changing room. “Gear up.”

And just like that, Faith found herself in her _gi_ and on the mat in time to line up with a class of miniature ninjas. “Tiger Cubs, we have a special guest tonight. Please welcome Miss Faith, who is here to teach you discipline and honor.”

Faith thought he was joking until she looked at his calm, serious expression. That was not the face of a man who understood humor.

“Now, please bow to me and allow me to bow to each of you.” Hands in the proscribed position, the instructor bowed. Faith followed suit and watched the raggedy line of kids echo the movement. When everyone was upright again, the instructor dropped to his knees. “Let’s meditate.”

The sound of kids falling to the mat filled the room. Faith watched the class from partially-closed eyes. There was a whole lot of horseplay going on. She broke position and pointed at a pair of boys who had crept close to each other. With wide grins, they scurried back into place and knelt (more or less still) until the instructor let everyone stand.

“OK, Cubs. Yellow and orange belts with me. White belts with Ms. Faith.” The bastard grinned at Faith’s shock. “Walk them through the basic punches and kicks. None of them have been here more than a couple of times. If you need more material, let me know.” And then he walked away, leaving Faith with four tiny warriors looking at her like she was a hero.

If she survived this class, Faith vowed to kick the instructor’s ass from one end of Sunnydale to the other.


	53. Chapter 53

“Same time Monday?” The instructor, or Mr. Sam according to Faith’s mini ninjas, asked. He tilted his head. “You aren’t about to punch the wall like earlier. I thought you’d do well with the little ones. Enough energy to keep you too busy to think. And it’s hard to lash out at someone who’s giving you everything they have and giggling the whole time.” Mr. Sam’s grin changed his normally stern expression.

He was right, damn him. Faith would be grinning all night thanks to those kids and their non-stop laughter. She refused to let Sam know that, though. “I ain’t teacher material. Never had lessons in fightin’ until I got Called.”

Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. You know more than most of the other students, including the advanced ones. Lyn and I aren’t looking for an expert in specific movements for the kids’ class. I’ll teach new material when it’s time. You can learn along with the Cubs and work with them on the repetitions.” His next words blew Faith away. “They loved you. While you were changing, I had a line of shrieking Cubs and their thrilled parents wanting to know why I hadn’t advertised my awesome new instructor.”

None of Faith’s usual sarcasm came to her defense. While Faith gaped at him, Sam strode away to talk to one of the advanced students coming in for the next class.

“Ms. Faith?” One of the Cubs appeared at Faith’s elbow. “Did Mr. Sam say something mean to you? Like the time I accidentally forgot to take my shoes off before I stepped on the mat. He was _mad_ and made me do a million pushups.”

More like two pushups. The kid’s arms were toothpicks with no sign of muscles. “Nah. He…uh…” Sam had what? “He kinda asked me to come back next week.”

“Cool.” Before Faith had time to react, the kid grabbed her in a rib-breaking hug before dashing away.

Cool. Yeah. It was wicked cool. Faith stuck her hands in her pockets and sauntered out the door.

***

Not even the memory of the dojo and her new band of tiny warriors helped Faith as she arrived at the club. All of her earlier happiness was absent as she took a spot in the line snaking around the building. Top of the World was packed on Friday night. Thanks to karate class and a quick stop at the DMP for a snack, Faith was late. She’d obviously missed Tara and her crew since they weren’t anywhere in line. And Trish’s car was in the lot.

With a sigh, Faith leaned against the brick wall. A few of the Dominants (and a few of the submissives) tried to catch her eye. Faith ignored them. She wasn’t here for them. She was here for Tara.

That was a problem. As she inched closer to the entrance, Faith replayed her confrontation with the Mayor. He’d threatened Tara. Not in so many words, but Faith knew the score. No way was Faith letting that happen. She finally reached the front entrance and glared at the bouncer, who checked the mark on her cuff _and_ her ID card before slapping an “under-21” stamp on her right hand. Great. No booze. She needed a drink. Maybe several drinks. Alcohol just _might_ help her get through this fucking party. Unfortunately, thanks to the stamp, Faith would have to face her problems without alcoholic assistance.

Pausing just inside the clubroom, Faith immediately located Tara and her group of friends. Trish, Brian, and Monica sat with Tara in one of the conversation areas. Three other Dominants that Faith didn’t recognize were there, too. Each of them had a submissive at their feet or draped in some fashion on their lap. They’d been nice enough to save a spot for Faith. A deep blue pillow, the same shade as Tara’s eyes when she was in Dominant Mode, rested on the floor next to Tara.

Faith had never knelt willingly, except with Tara. Tara made her _want_ to kneel – without asking. Stroking the butter-soft leather cuff on her right wrist, Faith stared at the pillow. If she walked across the room and dropped to her knees, what would Tara do?

Would she smile? Just a little, the way Faith liked? Would her eyes brighten and then chill until Faith turned into a puddle of need at Tara’s feet from nothing more than a single look? Or would Tara continue talking and laughing with her friends, idly running her fingers through Faith’s hair?

Either scenario sounded like Heaven. Too bad Faith lived in the real world. A world far closer to Hell than any paradise. Faith couldn’t kneel on that blue pillow. Tara and her friends were here to celebrate a claiming, a bond that could never last. A bond Faith had to destroy.

It had always been her plan. Staying with Tara was impossible, more now than ever before thanks to the Mayor. The first step into the room was the hardest. Faith stumbled over her own feet, bumped into submissives and Dominants alike as her mind and body fought over her decision. The club wasn’t so large that Faith couldn’t force her way to Tara’s side. She ignored the pillow in favor of the couch.

No one batted an eyelash. Faith ground her teeth. Why couldn’t Tara’s friends be like the Dominants she’d serviced in Boston? They’d made sure Faith knew her place was on the floor, sprawled or kneeling. Tara, though, smiled and twined their fingers. Maxie cuddled close on Trish’s lap and winked. Only Monica reacted at all, and her glare was muted. Most of her attention was for Drew.

_He_ knelt. Crouched, actually. Faith winced and nearly crossed her legs protectively over a phantom cock and balls. Drew’s scrotum was stretched, his balls held firmly in the grip of a humbler. One wrong move, an attempt to straighten… Sweat caused Drew’s skin to glow in the low lighting. His eyes remained glued on Monica, who scraped a single fingernail over his nipples. Left then right, in a repeating rhythm.

Faith followed Monica’s finger, warmth blossoming over the back of her hand in time with Monica’s movements. Her hand. It wasn’t Monica turning Faith’s skin hot. It was Tara. She’d matched Monica’s heavy touch with a lighter one of her own over the back of Faith’s hand. Her gaze, like her stroke, was gentle. If only. Faith’s determination wavered. She _wanted_ this. Wanted Tara. Wanted what the cuff and the blue pillow represented.

Her “set in stone” decision cracked and then crumbled entirely. Fuck the Mayor. She’d talk to Tara in the morning. Come clean about the Mayor and his freaky invincibility and his threats.

The pillow beckoned, and this time Faith listened. She slid off the couch and took the position Tara had taught her in her apartment: back straight, hands palm up on her thighs. She heard Tara’s sharp intake of breath and felt a warm touch on the link. Gentle fingers combed through her hair before guiding her head to rest against Tara’s knee.

Contentment settled around Faith like that warm blanket she’d once sensed in her mind. Mayor? Who cared? Not Faith.

“Did Trish tell you she has an interview with a law firm in LA?” Maxie was far too much like Willow, in Faith’s estimation. She always talked when Faith was enjoying the quiet.

It was fun to watch Trish’s reaction, though. She blushed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal.” She squeezed her arms around Maxie and nipped the back of Maxie’s neck. “It’s an unpaid internship, and I don’t know that I want to spend the summer in LA anyway.”

“Why not?” Los Angeles was a far cry from pathetic Sunnydale. Faith shifted a little, rubbing her cheek against Tara’s leg. “Way more fun than here.”

Faith’s comment won her a double-thumbs up from Maxie. “That’s what I told her, too. In case you haven’t figured my Great Lady out yet, Faith, Trish is a big old stick in the mud.”

“Max…” Trish closed her eyes in what appeared to be pain.

“When are you going to listen to me, Trish, and gag her?” Monica’s voice was cold and cutting. Faith noticed that Maxie wasn’t fazed by the threat. She stuck her tongue out at Monica. “I have the perfect one in my bag. She’ll not only be quiet but completely available for whatever you decide to do to her.” Glancing down at Drew, who was still in his uncomfortable crouch, she yanked his head back with a cruel grip on his chin. “I bought it for princess here and haven’t had a chance to use it.”

Brian joined the conversation. “Before Trish takes you up on the offer,” he grinned at Trish, “we have a few things for the new couple.” Bags and gaily-wrapped boxes Faith hadn’t noticed were pushed toward Tara. “Congratulations, both of you. I hate to lose my first and most promising student. I’m sure you and Faith will continue to learn and explore together.” He took a bag and held it out to Tara.

Rather than take it, Tara poked Faith’s shoulder until _she_ accepted the gift. Faith hesitated. Brian didn’t know her. The gift was really for Tara.

“It won’t explode. Or bite,” Sue said. “Bri wouldn’t let me get anything fun. Trish isn’t the only stick in the mud in the room.” She carefully avoided the narrow-eyed glare Brian gave her at the comment.

Digging through the pale blue tissue paper, Faith pulled out a set of matching lined wrist and ankle cuffs. Each of them bore the same mark as Faith’s cuff. Tara’s mark. “Thanks,” she said, tracing the design. Glancing up, she caught Tara’s heated gaze. “Wanna put ‘em on? See if they fit?”

Her head dropped and her back straightened at the first hint of frost in Tara’s eyes. “Not right now, my Faith. As much as I might like to see you bound and ready for me, we are here to celebrate. Aren’t we?”

“Yes, Tara.” Faith shivered as Tara rewarded her answer with a gentle caress at the back of her neck.

***

By the time all the gifts were open, Faith knew Tara’s friends were crazy. The cuffs were the only serious item on the table amid discarded wrapping paper. A fuzzy, heart-shaped padded. Nipple tassels with a matching clit clamp shaped like tiny bows.

Faith’s favorite was a book of cutouts for her very own paper-doll Dominant. Drew had grinned impishly and told Faith he had a paper Mistress hanging in his work cubicle. He wouldn’t divulge what Paper Mistress had been wearing. However, it was the first time Faith had seen Monica lose her usual arrogance.

Unexpectedly enjoying the party, Faith relaxed. She forgot all about the Mayor. The Mayor, though, must have anticipated that. As Faith scanned the clubroom, watching some of the scenes and listening to the group’s chatter, she saw a familiar face. Familiar yet far from friendly. Zajicek, one of the applicants Faith had interviewed for the Mayor’s security detail. He bared his teeth and saluted Faith with his glass – and all of Faith’s contentment disappeared.

Her insides knotted; her hands clenched, seeking a weapon that wasn’t there. She’d fucked up. This would never end. The Mayor would always be watching. And while his minions watched, Tara wasn’t safe. Closing her eyes, Faith soaked up the warmth of that leaked through the lid over her bond one last time.

Faith had rarely utilized her bond with Tara. She had relied on Tara to stay safely in her own mind. Tonight, Faith needed to be sure Tara could not sense Faith’s intent. She had to make sure the cracks in the barrier over the bond were gone for good.

Surging to her feet, she glared down at Tara with all the caged anger she wanted to unleash at the Mayor. “Think I need a little action. You still not signin’ off on heavy toys, T?” Anger couldn’t drive the edge in Faith’s voice. Losing the first and only dream of happiness she’d ever had was more than enough to make her question as sharp as a dagger.

“What?” Tara hadn’t understood. She glanced at Faith, her sexy half-smile inviting Faith to resume her spot on the pillow.

Keeping their conversation private wouldn’t do what Faith needed. She had to have an audience when she shattered Tara’s heart. Raising her voice so that none of Tara’s friends would miss their exchange, she snapped, “It was a simple question, T. I need a little action. You got what it takes to string me up and mark me?” From the little Tara had mentioned about her father, Faith was betting Tara would run a mile rather than pick up a whip.

Faith had the group’s attention. Maxie frantically shook her head and wiggled her hands as if to give Faith a heads up that she was about to cross a line. If Faith hadn’t known exactly what she was doing, she might have appreciated Maxie’s attempt to help.

The confusion and hurt in Tara’s voice made Maxie’s warning pointless. Faith had already crossed that line. “You w-want me to wh-whip you?” The stutter. Fuck, the stutter. The floor, not the pillow, beckoned. Faith should have collapsed to her knees begging for forgiveness when Tara continued. “I won’t do th-that.” Shy Tara and Lady Tara both managed to be in that short refusal.

“Whatever. If you ain’t Dominant enough, I’ll find someone who is.” Turning away from the now-silent partiers, Faith stalked across the club room. The need to take back her cruel words pressed on her chest. Tara didn’t deserve what Faith was about to do.

Zajicek was still in the club. He still represented the Mayor’s threat. She _had_ to go through with this. Top of the World was a classy club, however. It wasn’t as easy to find the perfect mark. A patsy Dominant who would hurt Faith and walk away without asking all the wrong questions. Harder didn’t mean impossible. No matter how clean the floor and the equipment, despite the Dungeon Monitors patrolling, Faith found just the right Dominant for the job.

The irony wasn’t lost on Faith as she stopped next to Zajicek. “You tired of holdin’ up the bar? ‘Cause none of the pussies here can manage me.”

The open challenge did nothing. Zajicek’s expression never changed.

And then he _looked_ at Faith. He must have been on his best behavior during their interview. Faith locked her knees and refused to back away from his soulless gaze and the cruel twist to his lips. “Let’s play,” Zajicek announced. A hard, heavy hand gripped Faith’s upper arm, nails digging into the skin.

Being manhandled. Forced to walk toward certain pain. They weren’t new for Faith. The ballooning pressure behind her eyes, however, was a surprise. As was the clear _feel_ of Tara in Faith’s mind despite the still-present barrier.

Not Tara. Not now. Faith shut down as best she could. She locked away any sense of self. It had been a survival technique during her childhood. A way to deny the Dominant johns the final satisfaction of breaking her. The trip to the whipping post took on a dream-like quality. Faith floated. People passed in fuzzy blurs of color and sound.

The cool waft of an air conditioned breeze brushed her skin as Zajicek stripped off Faith’s clothes. Cold hard cuffs enclosed her wrists before Faith was pulled up and onto her toes. Against her will, she turned her head and watched Zajicek take a rubber cat o’ nine tails out of the toy bag he carried. Metal glinted at the tip of each fall.

Only the sturdy whipping post and the obligatory chains kept Faith from running. She didn’t want this scene on any level. She wanted to call it off. To safeword. Difficult to do when she and Zajicek had never discussed one. Harder still since Faith _had_ to go through with this. Tara had to think Faith had repudiated her in the most public way possible.

Zajicek moved out of Faith’s line of sight. She heard him drag the tips of the falls over the floor, the metal clicking audibly. The tips would tear…

Son of a bitch! The whip would never even _reach_ Faith’s back because of Tara and her fucking magic. Faith had no choice. She reached for Tara through the link and prayed Tara was too upset to do anything more than hear Faith’s mental “ _Take down the fucking shields!”_

There was no response. Not one that came with words, anyway. Faith’s skin tingled for an instant, some energy she hadn’t really registered draining away. The magical barrier was gone like Faith had demanded.

One blow and Faith wanted the scene to stop. Whip Masters and Dominants who cared about their submissives could leave no more than mild red marks, tiny scratches, with a metal-tipped whip or flogger. Zajicek wasn’t there to make the pain mix with pleasure, and Faith had no illusions that he gave a flying fuck about her well-being. He swung the whip with no finesse and a whole lot of brute strength. Experienced with pain, Faith still cried out. The rubber falls were stiffer than leather. Heavy. That was bad enough. Then the metal pieces on the tips dug and tore into her skin.

The crowd that had gathered to watch the scene disappeared under the wave of agony. Instinct drove Faith to yank against the chains. The wooden post creaked, withstanding her enhanced strength only because Faith’s tip-toe position left her little leverage.

Another blow fell. The lashes tore Faith’s other shoulder as Zajicek followed the first throw with a backhand toss.

Roaring filled Faith’s ears. She couldn’t call the scene off. She’d told Tara to pull down the magical barrier. Tara had to believe Faith _wanted_ what Zajicek offered. Somehow, Faith had to get through this without breaking free and killing Zajicek or shrieking the club safeword like the terrified, helpless submissive she was.

Heat flickered in and around Faith as the cat o’ nine landed twice more. Something trickled down her back as she waited for Zajicek to strike again. Blood probably. There would be more before this nightmare was over.

The roar in Faith’s head grew louder. Faith wondered if she’d pass out while Zajicek played to the crowd. Except…The cluster of people on the outside of the rope around the play area had backed off. They were still there. But they weren’t staring at Faith anymore. They had found something else to watch. All of them had turned to face away from the scene floor.

That’s when the roar became an explosion that echoed in Faith’s mind. She screamed again as the barrier Tara had erected over their bond was ripped away just like it had the night on the apartment roof. No joy followed. No stern voice told Faith to drop a knife.

Instead, raw pain spewed from the link. Tara’s pain and humiliation.

It did what Zajicek’s whip could never, _would_ never, do. “Red. Red!” Frantic, Faith ripped at the cuffs binding her wrists. She had to get loose. She had to get away.

***

“Tara. Come on, honey. Whatever you’re doing, you have to stop.” Monica had a death grip on Tara’s arm, and Trish and Brian blocked her path.

They all needed to get out of the way. If they wouldn’t move on their own, Tara would help them. Just the way she’d _helped_ that man stop hitting Faith with his whip. Magic rippled in a visible aura around Tara. That magic held that horrible whip upraised and frozen in the air.

Tara reached across her body with her free hand. Blue fire streaked across her palm and threatened to explode. She had to get to Faith. Now! Faith was _hers._ _Hers_. That man had no right to chain Faith up and hurt her. Tara could feel Faith’s pain. Faith’s fear…and Faith’s decision to let that man do exactly that.

The flames in her palm flickered, and Tara slumped against Monica for an instant. Faith had chosen that man. She’d asked Tara to pull down the personal shield Tara had erected for her. With her actions, Faith had publicly repudiated Tara. In front of Tara’s friend. At their claiming party.

Everything was so wrong. Tara couldn’t make sense of anything. Only minutes ago, Faith had been at her feet. She’d felt a trickle of Faith’s happiness through the link. Faith had been on the verge of reaching for her, of letting her into her mind. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d been holding Faith’s hand and staring at collars. Dreaming of their future.

Tara’s emotions raged so wildly she felt dizzy from the inner maelstrom. At the center of the storm, Tara’s heart stretched and twisted, waiting to be pulled completely apart. “Let me go,” Tara said quietly. There was nothing she could do if Faith really didn’t want her. Tara was not her father. She wouldn’t threaten and cage to keep their bond.

Until Faith officially signed the repudiation documents, though, that man would keep his whip to himself. Stepping around her friends, Tara walked across the play area. Her aura still visibly glowed; people stared at her. Backed away. They didn’t realize Tara’s magical display was all for the man with the whip.

They’d know soon enough.

Tara’s emotions slowly settled. Each step helped stop the frantic whirling. Now Tara could feel Faith again. So scared. Trapped. In pain. Tara’s shoulders blazed with sympathetic pain. As she’d thought before, something about this entire scene was wrong. Faith’s emotions, easily discernable even with the bond blocked, only cemented that. She needed to understand, and only one person had all the answers. _Faith?_

The trickle of Faith’s emotions stopped. The block was thickened from Faith’s side. The message was clear. Faith refused to share. Faith didn’t want Tara or the bond.

So be it. From blistering rage to snow-covered emptiness; Tara’s emotions changed with Faith’s deliberate actions. All the pain. The anger. They stopped.

For the first time, Tara noticed two orange-vested Dungeon Monitors had confronted the man with the whip. He was red-faced with anger as one of the Monitors ripped the implement from his hand, not knowing that Tara had already made it impossible for that man to use the whip again.

The man shouldn’t be angry. He should be relieved. If the Dungeon Monitors hadn’t stepped in, Tara would have gotten to him. It didn’t matter that Faith had repudiated Tara. Tonight, in the club, Faith still belonged to Tara. Tara’s mark of ownership was clearly burned into Faith’s cuff. The man should have at least asked for Tara’s permission to scene with Faith.

Faith should have asked, too. She should have told Tara she craved something Tara couldn’t provide. Any one of their friends would have willingly stepped in, and they would have taken care of Faith.

The man hadn’t. Now that Tara was close, she saw the blood on Faith’s back. Parallel gashes marked both of Faith’s shoulders. They might scar if not doctored properly.

An invisible roped tugged her off her charted course toward the man. Faith was her new destination. Tara’s hands raised, hovering, yet not touching, the wounds. Tara knew the terrible fire a whip left behind. She would have cut off her own hands to keep Faith from experiencing it, too.

Faith stirred. The chains and the post kept her in place. “Stand still.” Faith might have chosen this path; yet Tara had to help her. It was her duty as Faith’s Dominant until the moment Faith removed Tara’s cuff.

Brian, Monica, Trish, and Josh joined them on the clubroom floor. They fanned out, blocking Tara and Faith from view of the increasingly large audience. Tara didn’t care one way or the other. The ice inside encased her heart. Tara cared about nothing.

Except Faith. She’d never stop caring about Faith, no matter how many times Faith shoved Tara away. Tara wanted to close her eyes and slump to the floor. She was so tired, tired all the way into her spirit. “Brian, please help Faith down.” Tara stepped aside as Brian rushed to unfasten the cuffs and release Faith from the whipping post. Jay was a half-step behind with a warmed blanket from the club’s ready supply.

It should have been Tara with the blanket. It wasn’t and never would be. Easily reading the tight line of Faith’s lips and the tension in Faith’s muscles, Tara made no move to assist. She stood and watched Faith shrug off the blanket and push past Brian and Jay.

She _did_ raise one hand in a silent command to her friends, keeping them from halting Faith’s departure. Faith made her own choices. Walked her own path. Tara would never cross the boundaries Faith set again. That had happened too often, if Giles was right about Faith’s past.

A little of the ice encasing Tara’s heart cracked, though, when Faith glanced at her for the first time. So much pain and a silent plea. Faith _wanted_ Tara. It was there for a split second.

And then it was gone, hidden behind a mask of cocky indifference.

Needing an outlet for the new flare of anger, Tara turned to the man. He’d been staring at them, and his lips curled in disdain.

“Ma’am,” one of the Dungeon Monitors began.

Tara cut him off. “Let him go.” Knives were not as sharp as her command.

Few clubs employed submissives as Dungeon Monitors. Dominants were better equipped to withstand the will of other Dominants. However, both club employees immediately released the man. They didn’t leave, though. They probably thought Tara was about to be run over by the much larger, clearly much stronger man.

The Dungeon Monitors had it all wrong. Tara was stronger in the only way that mattered. When the man grinned and stepped toward her, Tara stood her ground. She wasn’t running away. She wasn’t angry anymore. Her frozen emotions hadn’t thawed enough for anger. Or pain. Tara knew _exactly_ what she was doing as she raised her right hand, palm out. “ _Stop!_ ” Only another witch would notice the way Dominance and magic infused the single word.

As if he were a marionette under Tara’s control, the man jerked to a halt. “What the Hell? Who are you?”

More of the ice around Tara’s heart cracked. Heat curled around her as she unconsciously pulled in power. Sweat gathered at her hairline and dripped down her forehead. She could kill him with a flick of her wrist. Turn the entire club into a raging inferno. Spells in several arcane languages trembled on Tara’s tongue. Energy rippled on air conditioned currents blowing through the room.

The man was blind to the warning signs. Towering over Tara he snarled, “The little bitch wasn’t as tough as she pretends. Never figured she’d safeword.”

Safeword. Faith had safeworded? The magic inside continued to gather force.

With a muffled curse, the Dungeon Monitor holding the man’s whip threw the rubber implement to the ground where it smoldered and finally melted into a blackened puddle of goo on the floor.

“Be very glad of that safeword,” Tara told him softly. “It’s the only reason you aren’t on the floor along with your whip.”

More orange-vested people were pushing through the crowd. This time, they headed for Tara and not the man. They sensed what this man was too stupid to understand. He was no match for Tara. Quelling the magic inside in spite of the lingering urge to teach the man a lesson he would never forget, Tara turned away.

Stepping around the man, Tara met Brian’s worried gaze. “Please, let’s go home.”


	54. Chapter 54

The cold was a shock after the warmth of the club. Faith hadn’t taken a lot of time to put all her clothes back on. She’d stuffed her T-shirt in the pocket of her jeans and dragged her denim jacket over nothing more than her bra.

Her back burned and itched where the jacket rubbed against the fresh marks.

Faith stuffed her hands in her pockets and pulled the jacket down, increasing the friction over the whip marks. She deserved the pain. She deserved more. The _memory_ of Tara’s shock and disbelief at Faith’s actions. The terrible rending pain, like a living cartoon character whose heart had been ripped in half. Only Tara hadn’t been laughing; she’d been bleeding, deep inside.

Her footsteps picked up speed as she fled the club. The Mayor had won. No surprise. He’d held all the cards since Faith had run into him on the sidewalk. He was invincible, and Faith could never tell anyone any of the things she’d witnessed.

Now, thanks to her actions in the bar, Faith could never go back to Tara. The sidewalk glittered through the kaleidoscope lens of tears. Her chest ached with sobs trapped deep inside.

_Sobbing sounded even through the thick walls of the Slayer HQ. Faith rolled over and held her pillow tightly around her head. The sound continued unabated._

_“God damn it!” With a snarl, Faith rolled out of bed and stalked to the door. She’d give whoever was bawling in the other room something to cry about. Not bothering to drag on regulation sweats or shorts over her very non-regulation sleepwear, Faith pounded on her neighbor’s door._

_The sobbing finally stopped. Faith was about to turn away in victory when the door inched open. A tiny head appeared. Tiny eyes, swollen by tears, peered at Faith. A mini-Slayer. The kid couldn’t be more than five._

_Faith’s tirade died on her lips. “Hey,” she said softly. “Uh…”_

_A sniffle prefaced an arm-swipe of a very runny nose._

_All of Faith’s irritation fizzled and died. The kid looked miserable. “I was havin’ a nightmare,” Faith lied. “You look like you’re kinda tough. Mind if I bunk with you?”_

_“I’m not tough,” the little girl said._

_No shit. She looked petrified and like a sneeze would blow her over. “Tougher than me. I hate it here.” That was no lie. “Need somebody like you to keep me safe.” Not giving the kid an option, Faith pushed inside the room. It was big and empty and it dwarfed the mini Slayer who trailed her all the way to the bed. “When you get here? Ain’t nobody been in this wing ‘cept me for weeks.”_

_“Today.” The little girl hovered at the side of the bed as Faith burrowed under the covers and folded the crappy, flat pillow in half._

_“You gonna stand guard?” Faith held the covers up. “That ain’t gonna help with my nightmare. Need you to be right here. Only way for me to feel safe.” And only in their dreams would the poor kid be able to kill anything bigger than a spider._

_After another minute (one where Faith wondered why the Hell she was wasting her time), the kid climbed into bed. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” the mini Slayer vowed – right before she tried to become one with Faith and zonked out._

Tara had been Faith’s mini Slayer. She’d promised to keep Faith safe even though she, too, had looked completely helpless. And if a single sob slipped out of Faith’s control, she’d be just like that kid in Boston and sob forever.

It sounded like a pretty fucking good option. If only sitting on the sidewalk and crying like a baby would do any good. Crying was a waste of time.

Of course, Faith had nothing else to actually _do_ with her time. She’d effectively killed the party mood. Not even Monica was mean and nasty enough to keep the celebration going. Faith reconsidered that. She might be happy that Faith was gone. She’d never seemed to approve of Faith’s bonding to Tara.

The rest of Tara’s friends probably thought Faith wasn’t good enough for Tara now, too. Faith couldn’t blame them. Hell, she _agreed_ with them. Unfortunately, being labeled “not good enough” wasn’t enough. The Mayor had to believe Faith and Tara were on the verge of a full bond repudiation.

Faith stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Repudiate the bond. It was what she’d wanted. She’d told Tara that the minute she’d realized Tara was in her head. Faith had pretty much spit on the bond in the bar already. If she turned up at the Bond Registration Office on Monday and ended the whole thing? No one would be surprised.

A little more of Faith’s soul curled up and died. She stumbled off the sidewalk and leaned against the nearby building. She’d been lying. To Tara. To herself. Faith stroked the cuff on her wrist, fingers tracing the mark burned into the surface. She didn’t want to repudiate the bond – _or Tara_. Her muscles flexed; she started to straighten.

Faith took a single step toward the bar before crumpling back against the wall. She couldn’t rush to Tara and confess she wanted to stay. That irritating little voice in Faith’s head screamed that confession wasn’t enough. Faith would have to beg Tara to forgive her and take her back.

She couldn’t choose that option no matter how much she wanted. Faith actually agreed with that little internal voice; she’d have to grovel before Tara would even consider forgiving her. But that wasn’t the real reason, Faith didn’t return to the club. She didn’t trust the Mayor to buy her act with Zajicek. Tara and her friends might have; they didn’t know Faith as well as the Mayor. He’d seen her mooning over a display of collars. He wasn’t going to give Tara a free pass after one big scene. Faith had to sell the fact she’d turned her back on Tara; that Tara was no threat to him.

Faith couldn’t run away from her mistakes anymore. She’d chosen to follow the Mayor the night she’d left the House. To keep Tara safe, Faith would have to do the last thing she wanted: repudiate Tara.

Pushing away from the building, Faith continued walking. She might have created this situation, but the Mayor… The Mayor was going down. Faith simply needed a plan. A good one. It wouldn’t be easy. Killing an invincible man wasn’t like staking a demon. Swords and knives were out. Faith wandered aimlessly through downtown and Sunnydale’s less affluent neighborhoods.

Solutions were scarce. Completely missing, in fact. Faith had no idea how to defeat the Mayor. All she had were Slayer skills; skills Wes had said were pathetic. Not even Buffy could beat a man who’d glued himself back together after being cut in half. It was no use. They were all doomed.

Tired, defeated, Faith used the last of the money the Mayor had given her to rent a room at the Sunnydale Motor Inn. The stench of stale cigarettes and sex reminded her of Boston. Picking up the remote, she turned on the television to block out the terrible silence in the room – and in her mind.

The link no longer glowed around the edges where Tara’s thoughts and emotions waited for Faith to let them in. Everything was dark. Faith left the lights off, watching fuzzy shapes and colors play across the screen.

Faith wrapped the thin, cigarette-burned blanket around her. She was so cold. Then warmth suddenly surrounded her and her skin tingled.

Tara. Faith rolled over, searching in her mind… And found only a lingering swirl of magic that enveloped her. Tara hadn’t come for Faith. She hadn’t reached through their link and commanded Faith to come home.

Tara _had,_ in spite of how much Faith had hurt her, replaced the magical shields around Faith. Keeping Faith safe, just like she’d promised. Burying her face in the pillow, Faith muffled the sobs she could no longer hold back. _I’m so sorry_ , she whispered at the closed off link, but there was no answer.

***

Tara snuck out of the house before the sun was up. She couldn’t face Maxie and Trish’s sympathy anymore. They meant well. They wanted to be there for her. To help. All of their too cheerful comments and the bright smiles and hugs pushed Tara right to the edge, though. She’d wanted to scream at them the night before when they’d dragged her home from the bar.

All she’d wanted to do was hide away and lick her wounds. Actually, just wound. One large, gaping hole in her chest where her heart had been until last night. None of Trish’s understanding glances or Maxie’s well-meaning platitudes would cover that hole. Tara wasn’t sure she’d ever recover.

_“What was all that about? Did you guys plan a scene for tonight?” Brian asked as Faith headed across the clubroom. He lifted Sue off his lap and pointed at a pillow on the floor. “Sorry, honey. I need a refill. You’ll be fine down there until I get back. Do you want anything, Tara? Or Faith?”_

_Scene? “No.” Tara stopped paying attention to Brian, to any of her friends, as Faith sauntered up to a big, nasty-looking Dominant. What was she doing? Tara’s stomach did a slow roll. Something wasn’t right._

What an understatement. Life had been anything but right since yesterday when Tara had crossed a line and driven Faith away. She knew it was her fault. They’d been…happy. Yes, happy, when they’d left the club and their evening together on Friday. Faith had held Tara’s hand. Smiled.

_“Go with that leather thing that’d shove your boobs up.” Faith mimed what she meant, hands cupping her own breasts._

_Tara wanted to roll her eyes and move away from the window. There was no way she would ever wear a corset like that. It would absolutely shove her already too-large breasts up – and push them nearly out of the leather cups. Not to mention the way it would leave her stomach on display. Tara hoped Faith didn’t notice her shudder. Goddess, that corset would be terrible. Except, Faith was still watching her. Eyes bright and full of mischief._

If only they’d never stopped at Collars and Cuffs. If only Tara had not lost her head in the thrill of the day and some stupid Dominant need to _possess_. That was the moment everything had changed.

There had been fear in Faith’s eyes. She’d been terrified of those collars. And Tara had still pushed. Unconsciously hunching, Tara tried to shield herself from that memory. Hair made a bad barricade, though.

_“You want it, don’t you?” Faith pointed at the display window._

Tara should have lied. She should have told Faith that she didn’t want to collar her.

Goddess, why hadn’t Tara simply laughed and turned the whole thing into a joke? Now Faith was gone. She’d walked away from Tara without looking back. Tara didn’t even know where Faith was. It had been unbelievably difficult not to reach for Faith through the link; to leave it completely closed and locked.

Tara’s only infringement on Faith’s need for freedom had been the protective magical shields. She’d apologize to Faith and the Goddess for violating Faith’s right to choose Tara’s protection, but she wasn’t sorry.

As the sun edged over the horizon, Tara admitted she’d lost everything she’d never known she wanted: a soulmate, a group of close friends, and a job she loved. Once Faith formally ended their bond, Tara would leave Sunnydale. Her determination to stay, regardless of Faith’s decision about their bonding, hadn’t survived the previous night. Tara wouldn’t impose on Maxie and Trish anymore. And the Council job, no matter how much Tara enjoyed the chance to practice magic, would be too much of a reminder of Faith.

The decision helped Tara. It gave her a goal. Get through today, get through the Mayor. Then she could return to the quiet, solitary life she’d had when she’d first come to Sunnydale.

Her new-found peace was tested, though, when Tara glanced up. The doughnut shop was right up the block.

Steeling her resolve, Tara continued down the sidewalk. She wasn’t putting herself through that. She wasn’t going to buy breakfast and moon over Faith on the patio. Her stride was quick and sure. Tara was a woman in complete control of her emotions and her actions.

Ten minutes later, Tara sat down at the table where she’d met Faith and shared their first kiss. The jelly doughnut she’d bought sat uneaten on the plate. This trip wasn’t about eating. It was about saying goodbye.

The day she’d met Faith here, Tara had been reading lessons on Dominance and honesty. Tara prided herself on honesty, yet she had to admit she’d never tried to tell Faith how she felt. And she’d only managed to hint at her past. Because Tara hadn’t wanted to push Faith? Or because she hadn’t wanted to push _herself_?

Closing her eyes, Tara imagined Faith and the teasing curl to her lips.

_“You get your ‘grrr’ on because of that book?” Faith asked._

Tara controlled the memory. Altered it. She hadn’t been honest with Faith that day. She would be now. _“Sort of. It gave me some advice I didn’t like. It told me I had to be honest with myself, and I’m not good at that. I hide a lot of things. About myself. My family.”_

Would that kind of honesty have changed the course of their relationship? Tara didn’t know. She simply told her imaginary Faith every detail of her life before Sunnydale. All her hopes and fears. And, finally, she whispered the most damning truths out loud. “I love you, Faith. I love you, and I wanted you in my life forever. In my collar and at my feet. I’m sorry you didn’t want me back.” She almost couldn’t finish. Honesty sometimes hurt. “And I’m angry. You _hurt_ me, Faith.”

Shaking, Tara opened her eyes. People now sat at the other tables on the patio; she’d never heard them arrive. Sunlight brightened the sky. Tara waited for all that honesty to make her feel better, cleansed.

She waited a long time and then admitted she would never feel better because Faith was still gone. “Goodbye, my Slayer.” Tara threw away her doughnut and trudged from the patio. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and accomplish her first big challenge: getting rid of the Mayor. Digging her phone from her backpack, she dialed the Summers’ home.

“Hello?” Joyce answered.

Tara hadn’t left the Summers home on a happy note. She had, in fact, stormed out filled with righteous indignation that they’d wanted Tara to use Faith as a resource against the Mayor. _“You still don’t see her as a person, do you?” She’d squared her shoulders and ignored need to bend before Joyce’s Dominant glare. “You’re no better than the Council.”_

_“We came to you as Faith’s Dominant. We did **not** send a team of armed men to steal her off the streets.” Joyce was angry. It was clear in the way her voice softened dropped to a terrifying softness._

_“No, you didn’t.” Smarting from the rebuke, Tara lost her temper. “But neither one of you cared enough before now to help Faith. You,” she rounded on Joyce, “didn’t want to interfere even though you thought the way the Council treated Faith was wrong. And **you** ,” it was Willow’s turn, “thought she deserved what she got because she teased you. If the Mayor wasn’t eating spiders out of a box, you would never have wanted to talk to me or Faith.”_

“Joyce, it’s Tara. I’m s-sorry about what I said yesterday.” Joyce was smart enough not to say anything, and Tara used the opportunity to explain her call. “You were right. I should be helping you with the Mayor.” She wouldn’t tell Joyce about Faith leaving yet. “I need to talk to a friend of Janna’s in LA. Can I stop by tonight and talk to you and Willow?” If Melody didn’t have anything on how the Mayor might become a demon, Tara would help the Scoobies dig through every book Giles had.

“Of course, honey. You’re welcome anytime, and if it’s late, call first. I can pick you up or have Buffy escort you here.” Joyce paused, and Tara started to end the call. “Are you alright? You sound…different.”

Damn Joyce for being so perceptive. “I’m fine,” she lied. Honesty had a time and place. This wasn’t either the time or the place. “I’ll talk to you tonight.” She hung up before Joyce could mine for more information on her well-being. She needed to get to the bus station. Borrowing Trish’s car required going back to the house and facing her friends. Tara wasn’t ready for that.

Running through her plans for the day, Tara didn’t notice the truck pull up to the curb. She didn’t see the two men get out and run toward her.

She noticed nothing until it was too late. “I told you never to run from me,” her father growled right before he swung a meaty fist at her chin. The punch hit her shields. They barely fluoresced. Tara tried to bolster the barrier but she didn’t have enough energy left. The next punch slid easily through the shielding. When it landed, the sunlight disappeared and Tara dropped bonelessly to the sidewalk.


	55. Chapter 55

_Faith ran. And ran. No matter how fast she moved, how hard she tried, Faith never got…wherever she was going. That didn’t mean she gave up. Faith simply kept running. Her lungs burned and her legs felt like they were made of water. Damn it! “Where are you? Come back! Please!” It was all her fault. Faith knew that. If only she could catch up, she could apologize. Explain. Straining, Faith poured everything she had into running faster. It didn’t help. Falling to her knees, she sobbed. “Please, little cat. Come back. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me…”_

With a gasp, Faith sat up. Adrenaline poured through her until she thought she’d shake right off the bed. An aching sense of loss lingered as the details of the nightmare faded away. Faith rubbed her burning eyes, finding them tacky with tears. Fighting free of the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets, she stumbled across the room on weak legs, the urge to run still strong. Faith stood at the window until her heart finally slowed. As her breathing returned to normal, Faith rubbed her chest. She felt hollow. One good punch and she might simply shatter.

To hell with that. Faith wasn’t going to crumble. Not now. Not yet.

Mental posturing aside, Faith felt like crap. She’d tossed and turned all night thanks to the moans, groans, and creaking bedsprings emanating through the walls on both sides of her room.

No wonder the room had been so cheap. Faith was probably the only person not renting by the hour. Her head pounded in time with the continued sounds next door; she wanted to curl up and pull the blankets back over her head. Unfortunately, it was late. She’d somehow managed to sleep until nearly checkout. Adding her own groan to the mix, Faith headed for the bathroom.

The shower was disgusting. Mold and mildew blackened the grout, and there were places the plastic tub molding had pulled away from the wall. Faith had grown soft; this place was a palace compared to her apartment in Boston. Still, she took a very hurried shower and was happy to pull on yesterday’s dirty clothes. She needed to leave. Headache or not, Faith had to get going. Somewhere. Anywhere. Last night’s exhaustion was now the heady thrum of nervous energy. Faith shoved open the door and marched outside.

Faith’s trip was short, though. Reality set in less than a block from the hotel. She had nowhere to go. Nothing to do. No one she could go to for help with the Mayor.

She knew where she _wanted_ to go. She knew who she _wanted_ to talk to. Faith paced back and forth on the sidewalk, earning wide berths and strange looks from passersby. Last night, she’d thought convincing Tara that she wasn’t interested in the bond any longer was her biggest challenge. Maybe Faith had been wrong.

Maybe convincing _herself_ that she had to walk away from Tara was the challenge. Now, having done her best to break Tara’s heart, Faith realized leaving Tara was the very last thing she wanted to do. What she _wanted_ was to tell the Mayor to take a flying leap and then run like Hell back to Tara.

Making the right decision was easy. What Faith wanted wasn’t important. Keeping Tara safe and alive _was_. Following through with her decision… That wasn’t easy at all. Faith paced the sidewalk for long minutes before gathering her resolve.

Keeping an eye out for anyone following her, she headed for Trish’s. Her path was unconventional. Faith avoided a direct route. Why make herself a target for the Council? Something as lame as a restraining order wouldn’t matter to Wes and his crew. The trip across town would have been better at night or any time other than late morning on a Saturday, especially as Faith reached the suburbs. People were everywhere, and Faith couldn’t scale fences and take shortcuts through back yards.

Trish lived close to campus. That was a bonus. A block away and a street over from the house, Faith located a couple of college kids. One of them was nice enough to have an extra, hooded sweatshirt dangling from his backpack. Faith appropriated it with nimble fingers and only a hint of guilt. Hood up, hands stuffed into the front pouch, she ambled past Trish’s house.

There were no cars in the drive, and all the curtains and blinds were closed. Faith didn’t slow down or turn her head. She’d easily spotted the Council surveillance team in a white panel van down the street. Dumb bastards. They hadn’t even removed the special Council license plate.

Not to be outdone, a second surveillance team had taken up residence on the front porch of a house that Faith remembered had sported a For Sale sign the day before. This team belonged to the Mayor. There was no doubt about _that_ fact.

Obviously, the Mayor didn’t believe that Faith’s actions in the bar were enough. He’d sent his favorite watchdog into the ‘burbs. Zajicek had been a shark in a pool of goldfish at Top of the World. Sitting in a tiny rocking chair in a neighborhood full of co-eds, he was a shark completely out of water. Faith ducked her head and pulled the hood farther over her face.

Both teams of watchers had technically obeyed the restraining order. They were well outside one hundred feet of Trish’s house. Yet they were still too close for Faith to risk using Trish’s front door. She continued to the next house with no signs of life, hoping it would serve her needs.

Shielding her actions as best she could, Faith slammed her palm into the front door. The dead bolt ripped from the frame and sprang open. Faith stepped inside and grabbed the door before it came off the hinges or embedded in the wall behind. Quickly closing it behind her, she waited. No one in the house could have missed her entrance.

Seconds turned into minutes. No police or angry homeowner with a baseball bat arrived. Faith relaxed and hurried to the garage. A utility door led to the fenced backyard, her path to Trish’s house without the watchful eyes of the Council or the Mayor’s crew. She scaled the privacy fence between the yards easily.

The tingle of big magic hit Faith the second her leg crossed the top of the fence rails. Son of a bitch. How could she have forgotten? Tara had warded the house Faith’s first night there. She froze, waiting for an invisible hammer to crush her or a lightning bolt to fry her as she sat uncomfortably astride the thin fence boards.

Nothing happened, though. Faith slowly slid to the ground, heart pounding. No magic. Fine. That was fine. Tara must have done something so the magic recognized people. Staying low to the ground, she crept up to the windows overlooking the yard. The interior was dark. Faith peered intently through the glass, hoping to catch movement or other signs that anyone was home. No was there, though. No one Faith could see.

Moving with more confidence, Faith “let” herself into Trish’s garage via its utility door. It was easy from there to enter the house. The quiet stillness was creepy. In the short time Faith had lived here, there had always been someone in residence. Trish and Maxie. Monica. Tara.

Faith automatically turned to look at the entrance to the kitchen, imaging Tara coming out to announce, “ _I made pancakes. Shapes this time, just like Mama used to make.”_

It didn’t happen, no matter how long Faith stood there or how much she _wanted_ Tara to appear. With steps as slow and reluctant as a submissive marching to the spanking bench, Faith walked farther into the house. She was here for a reason. This wasn’t the time to wish for the impossible.

Faith was sidetracked a second time in the living room. No imaginary Tara with food, just blankets and a pillow decorating the couch. A small garbage can filled with torn and crumpled facial tissues sat on the floor right next to the pillow.

There was no reason for Trish or Maxie to curl on the couch for a crying jag. Tara, though… Faith had given her more than ample reason to cry.

Why hadn’t the crazy witch at least slept in the bed? Unless Tara hadn’t understood Faith’s message at the club. If she thought Faith was coming back; if she didn’t want to “steal” Faith’s bed, Tara would sleep on the couch.

Or…What if Tara had slept on the couch because, after last night, she couldn’t stand to be near anything Faith had touched?

Faith sat down on the couch and picked up the pillow, ready to do some crying of her own. The pillowcase was soft and it smelled like Tara. It somehow _felt_ like Tara, too. The dark corner in Faith’s mind that held the bond warmed. Closing her eyes, Faith ignored the usual fear her link with Tara caused. Tara wasn’t scary. Without the panic, it was so much easier to let the mental “Tara blanket” wrap around her. Tara’s warmth, her hidden strength… They were all there. Unconsciously surrendering to that tiny piece of Tara in her mind, Faith stretched out on the couch, wrapping herself in the _physical_ blankets Tara had left behind.

***

The real blanket was still wrapped around Faith when she woke up. Sitting up, Faith cursed. She was so stupid. She hadn’t come to the house to take a nap or move the fuck back in. What if Tara and her friends came back? Convincing them that she was through with Tara would be next to impossible, no matter _what_ she’d done at the bar last night, if she was all snuggled up in Tara’s blanket like some pathetic sub longing for her mistress. Faith refused to acknowledge her own longing for Tara, to admit for even a second how much comfort she got from being wrapped in a blanket carrying Tara’s scent.

That tiny little voice in Faith’s head wouldn’t let Faith live in the Land of Denial. It reminded Faith that if Tara came back, she wouldn’t care what Faith tried to tell her. She’d simply stride up to Faith with all her Dominance on display. Dominance and (damn that inner voice) disappointment. Burying her face in the pillow, Faith tried to hide from the voice and Tara’s sad eyes. Eyes that weren’t angry or accusing. Only sad because Faith had ripped Tara’s heart out and stomped on it in front of a whole club full of people.

_“For some reason, I know you won’t make fun of me.”_ Tara’s admission as they’d begun window shopping Thursday evening filled the house, and Faith shrank away from the truth. She might not have made fun of Tara the way her father had; that didn’t mean Faith hadn’t broken the trust Tara had placed in her.

Faith had broken Tara’s trust once. Crawling off the couch, Faith set out to crush whatever remained of Tara’s misplaced trust into dust. Feet dragging, she went to Tara’s bedroom to accomplish the one goal she’d had when she entered Trish’s house. Faith had no personal items to pack. She had no pretty apology for her actions to leave for Tara. For her Dominant. The one person Fate had selected for her. The woman who had been Faith’s first true friend and only protector.

Only one thing would once and for all drive home the message Faith never really wanted to send.

Fingers stiff and reluctant, she unbuckled the cuff on her wrist and set it in the middle of the bed. Tara would understand as soon as she saw it. For a Dominant to take another Dominant’s cuff off without their consent was worth the heavy whip and jail time for the offender. For a _submissive_ to remove their Dominant’s cuff without permission, though… There were no laws for that.

It was, very simply, the worst sort of betrayal. Worse than formal repudiation papers. It was a personal middle finger directed at the Dominant.

Faith never looked back as she retraced her steps through the garage and into the back yard. The Mayor had been clear. Get Tara out of the picture – or he would. Outside, in the bright afternoon sunshine, though, Faith’s bare right wrist glowed like a beacon.

Cuffs had been a luxury Faith had never experienced until the Council. She’d grown used to the weight and stiffness. And somehow, behind her back, Faith had grown used to seeing Tara’s mark. A mark that proclaimed her off limits; Tara’s chosen, claimed submissive.

Stroking her bare wrist, Faith realized she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kick Tara in the teeth the way the Mayor wanted. Not after she’d already hurt Tara so much the night before. Faith would meet _part_ of his demand. She’d get Tara out of her life but on her own terms.

Last night had been a mistake. A huge mistake. Faith could have bided her time and ended her bond with Tara on Monday when the Bond Registration Office opened. Tara would have grieved, yes. Faith’s crazy, sweet witch _believed_ in the bond and in Faith. Tara wouldn’t have been humiliated. Only hurt in a way she should have been expecting. Faith had warned her.

Faith sprinted back into the house. The cuff waited on the bed. Snatching it up, she buckled it on. The world somehow righted. At least a little bit. The Mayor and his threat hadn’t disappeared. Faith still had to leave Tara and their bond. The leather encircling her wrist settled some of Faith’s fears. Somehow, it would be alright.

***

Tara woke to Hellish heat. Her jaw and face ached, and her eyes struggled to focus. Orange light filtered in through slitted windows. It was hard to breathe. Tara sucked in one labored breath after another, shaking her head against the pain and fog.

Where was she? And how had she gotten here?

Every thought took an hour. Or a day. Tara couldn’t fit the memory puzzle pieces together.

She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Her hands were bound to her waist; cuffs clipped to a bondage belt. Yanking on them was useless. Tara tried, though. Tried until she was panting and covered in sweat.

Finally, she managed to bring her scattered thoughts under control. The narrow windows she’d glimpsed when she woke up weren’t windows. They were air holes. She was bound and crated!

Tara yanked at the restraints again and kicked at the covered crate door, fear stealing what little oxygen she had. She had to get out. Get free!

Thoughts of freedom took second place, though, when she managed to roll over. On one side of the crate, right near the cage door, was a tiny inscription: _Mama, you’ll always be the owner of my heart._

This wasn’t any crate. This was her _mother’s_ crate. Tara has scribbled that note to her mother when she was nine. She’d wanted to give her mother something happy to think about when her father locked her mother into the tiny space.

Fear spiraled into mindless panic. No! Tara wasn’t going back. She’d sworn she’d die before going back to the farm. Reaching deep inside, she grabbed at her magic – and found her reservoirs dangerously low. The continued ward on the house. The mental showdown with Gemma. The shields on Faith. Tara had been distracted and stupid. She hadn’t replenished her magical stores, and only dregs remained.

With enough time and the proper tools, the bindings and the crate would be manageable.

Tara had neither. A door opened and closed somewhere nearby. Squirming and wiggling, she peered through the air holes. Gray, gray, and more gray. Whatever was outside the crate, it was gray. Tara didn’t particularly like gray, and she didn’t recognize one gray over another.

She did, however, recognize one of the voices getting closer. “I told you, the girl’s mine. I’ll take care of her.” Tara’s father. And he was nervous. He always got blustery and angry when someone challenged him.

“Our employer is trusting you to do just that.” This voice was new. Smooth and well-educated. Tara yanked on the cuffs again, wishing for Faith’s Slayer strength or Willow’s off-the-cuff magical prowess. Her wishes were pointless, as were her attempts to get free. All Tara accomplished was missing part of the conversation. “…arrangements. I need assurances that you understand the expectations.”

“Donny and I’ll handle it. Don’t know why you think the bitch is a problem. Stupid, stuttering, useless piece of ass, just like her whore of a mother.” They were so close now! Throwing caution to the winds, Tara grabbed at the dregs of power. She’d show her father how useless she was. Except, once she had the energy, Tara realized one horrible truth: if she actually managed to channel her inner Willow, there would be no power left.

No power meant Tara couldn’t maintain the ward on the house or keep the shields on Faith. Faith would be completely vulnerable if the Mayor or the Council went on the offensive.

There was no time! The gray landscape outside the crate was blocked by charcoal gray trousers on one side and faded blue jeans on the other. Her father never wore anything other than jeans. Tara yanked on the unlined cuffs in mindless fear until her wrists bled.

A booted foot slammed into the crate, and Tara screamed. “Shut up! I’ll get to you soon enough. _Then_ you can do all the screaming you want,” her father snarled. “Are we done here?”

There was a long, weighted silence. Then the stranger sealed Tara’s fate. “She’s all yours.”


	56. Chapter 56

Faith was sick and tired of walking through downtown. The next time she had nothing to do but burn time, she was heading for the beach. She was over the thrill of the Sun Cinema. What movie theater played the same damned movie for four months? Her eyes skated across the ticket booth and landed on the big digital clock in one corner.

Shit! How the Hell had she forgotten? She didn’t have time to burn; she was fucking late for her date with the Cubs! Faith took off for the dojo as if all the vampires in Sunnydale were on her heels. Only Slayer speed got her inside and into her _gi_ with minutes to spare. Mr. Sam shook his head and mimed glancing at a watch as Faith hurriedly bowed onto the mat, still sucking wind. “Cutting it close. Not a good example for the Tiger Cubs.”

“Think I tried to tell you that last night when ya’ offered me a job,” Faith snapped back. What the Hell? She was here, right? She’d given up plans for a whole lot of nothing to come teach a bunch of little kids. Then she saw Sam’s smirk. The bastard. She gave him her best Slayer Glare – and he threw back his head and laughed. Faith obviously needed to practice her glare. “I’m gonna teach the kiddies to kick your a…” One of the Cubs ran up, and Faith changed her word choice automatically. “…butt.”

“Exactly why I hired you.” Sam appeared more than satisfied with his choice of instructor. “Now, let’s get started.”

Drifting to the far side of the mat, Faith took up her position. Class was different this time. It was still weird. Faith had to resist looking around for the _real_ instructor every time one of the students bowed in her direction. But the energy and boundless enthusiasm were the same. Marshalling her four-pack of tiny warriors in front of the mirror, Faith watched their form like a hawk. She drilled them ruthlessly; although, the Cubs must not have understood the meaning of “ruthless” since the youngest Cub spent more time untying his white belt and trailing it on the floor than he did learning to punch or kick.

The class was over so quickly. Faith waved as the kids stampeded off the mat to their waiting parents (every last one of them remembering to bow first). The rest of the day loomed ahead, promising only boredom.

“Ready for your private lesson?” Faith spun and stared at Sam. He’d donned a padded leather vest that covered his chest and ribs as well as padded headgear. “We haven’t trained together. I want to test your skills. Sending you through a beginner class kept your Domme from quitting on her first day, but I don’t think you’re white belt material.”

No shit. “Um…” Faith searched for a polite way to say she’d mop the floor with him.

Sam beat her there. “Slayer speed will trump my training most days.” _Every day_ , in Faith’s mind. “Part of your training, though, has to be control. If we slow your movements down, we can perfect them. Once you speed them back up, there won’t be anything with the skill to take you down.” Tilting his head, he examined her. “Let’s get you geared up. I don’t want to see that Lady of yours in full form because I bruised you too badly. Besides, Lyn would kill me.”

Lyn, the tiny chick from their first class? There had to be a good foot difference between her and Sam. Faith didn’t say anything, though. Most people probably discounted Tara because she was so nice and shy. They’d never met Lady Tara. She wasn’t shy; she was just plain scary. And hot.

Walking across the mat, Sam pulled a pair of gloves and shin guards off the gear wall. “Try these. The gloves are really more for grappling than true sparring, but they’ll give you more options than just punching.”

He waited patiently while Faith tore open the plastic packaging and awkwardly strapped the shin guards on. The gloves were easier. Faith’s bag gloves back at the House had been similar. When she was ready, Sam led them back to the center of the mat. “Rules for today: half speed only – for you. Nothing, no kicks or punches, above the head – also for you. Once we’ve worked together a few times, we’ll talk about changing that.” Facing Faith, he bowed.

She bowed back and mirrored Sam’s fighting posture. It wasn’t Faith’s usual head-on style. Not to mention it was a sorry excuse for sparring. They danced and circled for what felt like hours. All Sam did was _watch_ Faith. Finally, she got tired of playing. Her punch felt so slow. Was this how normal people fought?

Sam easily blocked it. Faith never even _saw_ his counter punch until it hit the shields Tara had placed on Faith. With a grunt, Sam pushed through the barrier and his gloved hand finally tapped her in the jaw. He didn’t appear angry at the protective barrier and he didn’t give Faith any time to be upset with getting bested on their first exchange. “When you throw a punch, your other hand should automatically drift up to guard your head.” He demonstrated, gloved hand hovering near his chin, elbow tucked near his side. “Otherwise, you leave yourself open.” He punched at Faith, and this time, she noticed his free hand stayed down and his head was exposed.

They circled some more. Faith found her rhythm as they exchanged punches and kicks. Sam was good. Buffy good without the super speed and nasty habit of trying to kill Faith. He got inside Faith’s guard despite the shield, landing controlled blows to her head, chest, and ribs. His kicks were worse. Taller than Faith, he often stood outside her range and found multiple targets.

He never got angry with her for not blocking. For not seeing how vulnerable she’d left herself. Sam didn’t bitch when Faith landed punches and kicks in return. He bounced back to his feet every time she knocked him over. And when he stepped away and bowed, ending the lesson, Faith grinned. “That rocked.”

Sam grinned back. “It did. If you can get rid of the invisible Jell-o around you,” he teased, “we’ll spar at least once a week, probably after the kids’ class on Saturdays. We’ll have the dojo to ourselves so you won’t have a gaping audience. We’ll use the adults’ classes during the week to work on the material. Have your Domme talk to Lyn the next time she’s in class. I don’t want to infringe on any plans she has for you. The truth is, Faith, you’re not a white belt, but we’re sticklers here. You don’t get a new belt without passing the testing. I’ll make sure you know the actual test material, and we’ll put you through your paces in a couple of weeks.”

Testing was bad. Faith failed tests.

As if sensing her concerns, Sam laughed. “We don’t test students we don’t think will pass. I’m not here to humiliate you, Faith. You’ll work harder than you dreamed possible, but you’ll absolutely know your stuff. That’s why I’m here.” His expression grew evil. “My other personal student swears I was a sadist in another life.”

***

Tara had told Faith she could level the Slayer HQ in Boston. She was a powerful witch. An Adept. A giant among Smurfs in the magical world. When her father whipped open the crate door and reached inside, though, Tara was nothing more than a terrified child.

Her kicking feet did nothing to stop a large hand from wrapping around her ankle and pulling. Thanks to the cuffs, Tara couldn’t grab onto anything (not that there was anything in the bare crate). That didn’t keep her from trying. Her nails scraped the plastic, touching gouges left years ago as her mother fought a similar battle to stay inside the hated cage.

Inside and away from her father.

Inch by inch, Tara slid toward the door. “Stop fighting. It won’t do you any good.” An open-hand slap stung Tara’s thigh as it emerged from the crate. “It will only make your punishment worse. I warned you what would happen if you ever ran from me.”

_Her mother’s body was gone. Donny had dragged it out of the living room. Tara had heard him grunt and then the front door had opened and closed. “Get up!” Her father used a fistful of Tara’s shirt to drag her to her feet. “What did that bitch tell you? That she’d get you off the farm? Away from me?” He was furious, face red with anger._

_Tara struggled against his hold. She wouldn’t tell him **anything**. _

_“You listen to me, and you listen good. You’ll never get away. It doesn’t matter if you make it off this farm; you belong to me. I will find you.” His smile turned Tara’s blood cold. “And when I do, you’ll think what happened today was a walk in the park.”_

He was going to kill her. Tara knew it. She kicked out, enjoying his hiss of pain when her heel made contact with his shin.

“I thought you told the guy we’d take her out of state before playing.” Tara’s tiny sense of triumph withered and died as her brother Donny appeared at the cage door. She might have gotten lucky and slipped away from her father if he’d been alone. With her father paired with Donny, Tara didn’t stand a chance.

“What that bastard doesn’t know…” Her father laughed, and Donny grinned in response. Two terrible peas in a very rotten pod. “Grab the gear from the truck. This place is far enough away from town for our needs. We’ll have her screaming in no time.”

Tara’s head thunked onto the concrete floor as she cleared the crate door. It hurt, but she knew it was nothing compared to what waited. Reaching inside, Tara gripped her remaining magic. Damn her arrogance for not giving Willow’s “new magic” a try. Even if she threw raw energy at her father and brother, Tara didn’t think it would be enough to take them both out. Her focus remained on that latent power as Donny took over from their father and dragged her across the concrete warehouse floor by her ankles.

Pushing fear aside, Tara gathered all of the droplets of power together. She had to move quickly. Donny’s breath was hot on her neck as he held her against a wall with his body weight. Her father had already wrapped a manacle around one of her wrists. Tara allowed herself one final touch on her link with before shunting the magic through the bond and sealing it with all the skill at her command. “ _I love you, Faith.”_

***

“Nah, I’ve met bastards like that. You ain’t nothing like them.” Sam wasn’t like Zajicek or any of the johns who’d paid her mother for an hour or so with Faith. “You had lots of chances to kick my ass today and you didn’t. Learned more sparrin’ with you than I did the whole time I worked for the Council.” It was easy to talk to Sam. Faith didn’t think twice about admitting she’d left the Council and that she’d been less than happy with her role there.

“You’ll be able to kick _my_ butt in no time.” Sam pushed Faith toward the door. “Now go home and take a shower. You stink and you’re dripping sweat all over my mat – which I still need to clean.”

Faith had shared a lot with Sam for a guy she’d just met a few days ago. She wasn’t going to tell him that she had no place to go if she left the dojo. “Whatever. Show me what ya’ need done. Slayers are good for more than killing shit. Bet I can…” Her words cut off as a ball of heat exploded in her mind. “What the fuck?”

Sam pointed at her. “You’re glowing.”

Damned if he wasn’t right. Blue light brightened the air around Faith. Heat zinged through her body until her skin ached as if she’d fallen asleep at high noon on the beach with no suntan lotion.

That’s when she heard it. One quiet comment. _“I love you, Faith.”_

_“Tara?”_ The link was open. Faith could _feel_ Tara. Feel all that love aimed her way, but there was something behind it. Something Faith couldn’t name. Then the link slammed closed with so much force that Faith grabbed her head.

"Faith?” Sam was there, eyes concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Fire seared Faith’s back before she could answer. A scream tore from her throat in time for another line of burning pain to erupt. Faith knew that feeling. Knew it well. Where was it coming from?

“Faith!” Sam was losing it. Her voice had risen and he shook her until she met his gaze. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” The pain was constant now. One line of pain stacked on top of another. “Tara…the magic…whip…” Faith knew she wasn’t making sense. Crumpling to the mat, she let the agony envelop her. Fighting it wouldn’t help. She’d done that all her life and gotten nowhere. “Something’s wrong, Sam. It’s like you got me strung up and’re taking my skin off with a bullwhip,” she choked out.

Pulling her chin up, Sam asked urgently, “Where’s your Domme? Concentrate, Faith! Once you know where she is, we can call the police.”

Tara? What did Tara have to do with anything? It was so hard to think through the pain. Nothing in Faith’s life had ever been this bad. Sam pulled her off the ground and shook her again. Concentrate. OK. It must be important. Faith closed her eyes and did her best to ignore each new, mental strike of the whip.

Mental. Son of a bitch! _Tara! Tara!_ Faith screamed the name at the link but it was still closed. If those were Tara’s emotions flowing through the bond, it wasn’t intentional. Tara had locked it down tight. Faith battered at the barricade. “I can’t get to her, Sam!”

“You have to keep trying!” Sam sounded like a Dominant despite the collar around his neck. “Reach for her, Faith.”

He didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know that Faith and Tara’s bond was a joke. That Faith had all but ordered Tara to stay on her side of the link. She’d never be able to find Tara. Not on her own.

Faith’s options were limited when it came to help. Maxie and Trish might call in the Marines, but that took time (and was probably all bluster, anyway). The Council was out. They’d lock her up or kill her rather than help rescue Tara.

Maybe they were the ones hurting Faith. Using Tara as bait.

It was a terrifying idea. Wes would have had to act on his own, though. No way would Giles, Buffy, or Janna be part of that kind of shit. It could have been the Mayor, too. Kidnapping and torture were right up his alley. The bastard had been clear that he considered Tara a threat, and Faith knew the Mayor wasn’t afraid of murder.

If the Mayor _was_ the one holding the whip, Faith vowed to kill him if it was the last thing she did. But first, she had to find Tara. Pushing Sam away, Faith started running. Downtown was a blur. So were the neatly-trimmed yards and houses. The fiery pain had ended. No new “blows” fell.

That drove Faith to even greater speed. If whoever had Tara _wasn’t_ whipping her, he could be doing…other things. Things Faith would never allow to happen to Tara. When she leaped onto the Summers’ front porch, she pounded on the door. “Open up! Open the fucking door, B!”

Seconds later, the door sprang open. “Faith! Honey, you can’t…”

“I don’t fucking care.” Joyce had always been nice to Faith. It was the only reason Faith didn’t throw Joyce bodily out of the way. Instead, she simply moved Joyce back a step and slipped inside. “Buffy!”

Buffy came out of the kitchen. “We aren’t going to fight, Faith. I told you Giles and I aren’t supporting the Council’s plan.”

Didn’t anyone here believe in shutting up and listening? Faith slapped a hand over Buffy’s mouth. “Somebody’s got Tara. I can feel her,” well, she _had_ felt Tara, “in the bond. It ain’t good, Buffy. I gotta find her.” Her voice rose. She didn’t have time to waste explaining. She had to find Tara. The whipping might be over, but Tara’s pain oozed through the bond until Faith’s nerves shuddered and jumped. “I gotta find her, only I don’t know how.” Faith was up in Buffy’s personal space, needing the proximity to _make_ Buffy understand. “Whatever I have to do, Buffy. I got information on the Mayor. I’ll give it to you. All of it. Just…” Fear, need, helplessness drove Faith to grab Buffy and plead. “Please. Please, B. You gotta help me find her.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she stiffened against Faith’s hold.

No! No, Buffy couldn’t say no. Faith had no one else she could go to.

“I’m sorry,” Faith babbled. “I’m sorry. For everything. For every stupid fucking thing I did before.” Releasing her hold on Buffy, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. “Please,” Faith was begging now. “Please. You can’t…Don’t make Tara pay ‘cause I’m a fuck up.”

“No! Faith! I wouldn’t do that.” Buffy hauled Faith to her feet. “Come on. Will’s in the kitchen and Mom will call the rest of the gang.” Faith was so dazed she stumbled after Buffy as she shoved the kitchen door open. “Will!”

“I heard.” Willow sat at the kitchen table and was already reaching for her laptop. “Faith, do you have any idea who took Tara or where they might be holding her? Why would anyone want to take Tara?”

There were no accusations. No judgment. All of Faith’s troubled history was left unspoken as the Scoobies launched into action. Faith had witnessed it before. It didn’t matter how bitter the argument or how big the screw up, the Scoobies banded together to take care of their own.

It was the most amazing thing Faith had ever experienced because somehow, they were acting as if she _was_ one of them. Her voice ragged with suppressed tears, she said, “I think it’s the Mayor.” Buffy and Willow exchanged a look; a look Faith ignored. For now. Her link with Tara was so tenuous. Tara had respected Faith’s rejection of the bond. The lid Tara had slammed down was tighter than ever; her emotions were fading.

Desperate for answers, to find Tara, Faith never considered avoiding Willow’s question. “He found me Thursday night. Told me I had to get Tara outta the way. I guess he didn’t think I’d really do it.” Peering at Willow with all her emotions on display, Faith confessed. “Whoever he hired was whippin’ her! She’s hurtin’ so bad. I could feel it.”

Willow’s lips tightened. “They won’t be for long.” Typing like the wind, she went to work on her computer. “The Mayor’s big on email. He left a trail a mile wide with Finch.” Faith didn’t even flinch at the sound of the name. “I’m hacking into City Hall. Maybe he emailed whomever he hired.

Beneath the click of keystrokes and Buffy’s quick footfalls as she paced the kitchen, Faith heard Joyce on the phone. “…ideas, Rupert. Willow’s checking the Mayor’s email. I assume she’s already notified Janna.”

Probably not. It wasn’t Willow’s style. She was all about finding the answers, and Faith was familiar with Janna’s less-than-enthusiastic support of Willow’s hacking skills. In any other situation, Faith might have (heavy on the might) worried about getting Willow into trouble. Right now, she wanted to shout at Willow to go faster. To do more. To break and enter or hack or whatever Willow did on the computer as long as she found Tara.

“I did, Mrs. Summers,” Willow called out. She lifted her head long enough to grin at Joyce. “Janna told me she’d take away my laptop and anything that ran on electricity for life if I got caught hacking City Hall.” Her head dropped and her next comment was so soft Faith wondered if Willow was talking to her alone. “She didn’t tell me to stop, and I won’t get caught. Not this time. I’m ready for the Mayor.”

“No, you’re not. None of you are.” It was out before Faith could censor it. Buffy stopped in mid-stride, and Willow’s fingers came to rest on the keyboard. “You ain’t got any idea what he is.” Faith had _seen_ the Mayor’s power and she was sure that she still knew next to nothing about what he could really do.

Buffy crossed the kitchen and stood right in front of Faith. Her hand rose, hovered near Faith’s shoulder, and then dropped before there was any contact. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

Right. Of course it didn’t. The Mayor would get his ass kicked as soon as Tara was back.

Thinking of Tara jangled Faith’s already jumpy nerves. Where was she? What was happening? The link was quiet, except for a constant trickle of fear and pain. And…acceptance? “ _No!”_ Faith shouted it at the blocked bond. No way. Tara couldn’t give up. “ _Don’t you fucking dare quit on me, T. I got the Scoobies trying to find you. You just gotta give us time.”_

There was only an echoing silence in her mind.


	57. Chapter 57

Damned stubborn witch. Faith’s mental voice was a ragged whisper as she continued to plead with Tara. “ _Come on, T. Just tell me where you are. I’ll be there. We’ll take out the Mayor together. I’ll hold him while you use your famous Front Two Knuckle Punch.”_

There was no answer. There hadn’t been for…Faith checked the clock. Nearly an hour. Panic had been such a constant companion, the new adrenaline kick was like tossing back beer after downing a bottle of Jack. A tiny buzz amid a lightning storm.

“Faith?” Janna’s voice was quiet, and she stayed out of Faith’s reach. She’d been hovering protectively near Willow since she’d arrived.

Barely glancing away from her intense study of the kitchen floor, Faith muttered, “Yeah?” If Janna decided to bitch about the thing with Willow in the school now, it wouldn’t go well.

“You told Willow the Mayor threatened Tara.” Janna apparently didn’t have anything new to add to the whole lack of nothing going on at the moment.

Faith began counting the chips in Joyce’s linoleum floor again. Man, there were a lot. Joyce needed to replace the whole thing. Maybe the cabinets, too. The paint curled along the edges…

“That makes sense. Tara’s very powerful. If we needed magic to defeat him, she’d be our biggest weapon.” Leaving Willow without a bodyguard, Janna wandered across the kitchen. The movement was probably supposed to appear casual, but Faith went on high alert. “But I don’t understand…”

Now _Buffy_ drifted closer to Faith. Right into her personal space so that their shoulders brushed. Warning bells and buzzers clanged along Faith’s nerves. She straightened. Had coming here been a mistake? What if the Council was behind the whole thing to set Faith up? What if Buffy and Janna were about to pounce on her?

Her gaze slid around the room, looking for the closest weapons. The knives were out. Buffy was between Faith and the knife block. All of the kitchen chairs were occupied. The whole Scooby gang was there. Even Lydia.

_Mano a mano_ with Buffy was bad odds. Faith realized she had been an idiot. She’d never even considered that the Council had just as much reason to kidnap Tara as the Mayor. If Tara was out of the way, taking Faith out of the picture got a lot easier.

“Faith, Tara’s the strongest witch in the area. Maybe the entire country. While warlocks and dark witches don’t advertise in the local paper, the Mayor would have to dig deep to find someone powerful enough to defeat her.” Janna tilted her head and asked, “Why hasn’t she freed herself? How did the Mayor kidnap her in the first place?”

“I…I don’t know.” Faith hated to admit that. “It’s T,” she said as her mind grappled with Janna’s questions. “She don’t use magic much.” Except in the Bond Registration Office. Or when she’d threatened to blow the Boston Slayer HQ to bits.

Or when Tara had shielded Faith. Shit. Oh, shit! “What if she was already using magic?”

“What do you mean?” Willow’s head popped up from behind her laptop.

“Tara,” not “T”. The woman who had threatened Wes on her doorstep definitely hadn’t been shy. “She’s got warding at home. And on me.” Snippets of their claiming ceremony caught in Faith’s memory, and she snarled, “There was some English witch at the Bond Office; she did something and Tara kicked her ass. She’s been shielding me ever since.”

Buffy gently touched Faith’s arm. Enough to interrupt her rant and then she moved away. “I promise we didn’t send anyone after you that day.” Her intent gaze flickered to Lydia who appeared grim. “But Wes might have.”

“Did Wes send a team after Tara?” Now Faith rounded on Buffy. She was so confused and angry. And scared. It made her a little crazy. Crazy enough to get in Buffy’s face with the entire gang in residence. “Did he? I blamed the Mayor, but Wes was spoutin’ shit about arresting Tara and her friends. Is this Brit for jail? Kidnapping and whips?”

Buffy didn’t engage Faith. She leaned back against the counter, hands flat against the surface. “We didn’t do this.” Then her calm, assured expression crumbled. “Did we? Giles?”

“I did not.” Giles’ reached for Lydia, gripping her hands. “I cannot speak for Quentin and that wanker who has taken over my House. They are mad enough to try anything.” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath when Lydia gave him an appalled look. “Faith, my dear, I am so sorry. I never imagined the Council would ever do something like this.”

“We don’t know that they did.” Joyce interrupted Giles’s apology. “Willow hasn’t found our information yet – but she will,” she added to Willow’s fierce nod. “Faith, honey, I’m more confused than Janna.” Her smile was wry. “It takes all my energy to keep up with Buffy’s clothing choices and ‘yes, I will/no, I won’t’ decisions to collar poor Xander. I haven’t paid attention to Magic School. You said something happened at the claiming. What?”

Faith automatically closed her eyes to reconstruct the scene.

_Blah, blah, blah. The snooty guy behind the desk needed to shut up and get on with it. Faith sighed and crossed her arms. Who knew getting hitched was so fucking boring or took so long? Her boredom ended when Tara jabbed her viciously in the ribs. With a pained grunt, Faith straightened and glared. What was that for?_

_While Faith glared at Tara, the clerk started up again. Only now he had a friend, an ugly broad in desperate need of dental work. Faith winced when the woman smiled. “Gemma…”_

“Ugly. Needed braces or a whole new mouth. Said her name was Gemma,” Faith rattled off.

“That sounds amazingly like your schoolmate,” Giles murmured to Lydia, who had covered her face with her hands. “She was a special friend of Quentin’s pet witch.” His voice was hard, not at all like his usual smooth tone. He sounded pissed. “She was being groomed to take over the Coven in Devon. If the Council were to move on Tara, she would be the first call Quentin made.”

“I’m checking passenger and Custom’s records,” Willow said, shifting uneasily. Faith glanced at Janna. Willow was definitely breaking the rules now. The Mayor was one of the Bad Guys. It didn’t make hacking more legal, only more palatable. There was nothing to justify what Willow did now.

Except saving Tara. Faith hunched her shoulders, feeling the weight of responsibility pressed all around her as Willow continued. “Do you have her full name? I mean, Gemma’s not on the Top Ten Baby Names in America list, but…”

“Fitzroy. Gemma Fitzroy.” Lydia had recovered enough to be a participant in the conversation. “Check Concorde flights. Even with the teams trailing Faith, Quentin would have had to act very quickly. We…” She stopped, eyes flickering to Faith. “ _He_ would not have known of Faith’s bond to Tara until after Buffy filed her report.”

“I thought knowing that Faith was bonded, especially to Tara, would help.” Buffy grimaced. “I was wrong. If the Council sent a witch after Tara, it’s all my fault.”

No, it wasn’t. “It’s my fault.” Faith knew it. “I fucked up.” Like always. “The Council came after T ‘cause I did all them stupid things and _then_ I killed Finch.” Buffy and Giles had tried to warn her, only she hadn’t listened. And now Tara was paying for her mistakes. Paying with the pain and fear leaking through the closed-off bond.

She couldn’t take this anymore! Shoving away from the island, Faith strode for the kitchen door. Research was a waste. It had always been a waste. Willow was a genius, but that didn’t mean she’d be able to find anything – while Faith stood around and picked her nose.

And whoever had Tara got another chance to whip her. Faith wouldn’t…couldn’t think about anything worse. Tara would be fine. She _had_ to be fine. She desperately hammered at the blocked bond at the same time she slammed her hand into the kitchen’s swinging door.

A hand on her shoulder kept her from fleeing. “Honey, where are you going?” Joyce asked. “Did you remember something?” Joyce knew Faith hadn’t. It was in her eyes. All soft and dewy and filled with pity. Faith took a step forward, poised to lash out. “We’ll find her, Faith. You can’t go running off on your own. Tara will need you.”

_Tara will need you_. “Not if we don’t find her,” Faith managed in a choked whisper.

“Oh, honey!” Joyce pulled Faith into a smothering hug – and Faith didn’t resist. She couldn’t. What would she do if she never saw Tara again? “You have to stay positive. How many times have you and Buffy faced a demon or a horde of vampires and survived? You have the best team of researchers on the Council working to find Tara. Trust them.”

Trust came hard for Faith. Trust meant letting Joyce and the Scoobies in, giving them a chance to betray her.

Betrayal was a small price to pay for getting Tara back safe and sound. “OK,” she whispered.

“I’m still searching the Mayor’s email. Nothing so far – and I’ve gone back before you left the Council, Faith.” Willow waved a hand at the laptop. “Maybe the Mayor got smarter. He knows I’ve been in his computer before” Her grin was electric. “So I hacked into the phone company records and am looking for any recent call records.”

No one, not even Janna, objected to those activities. “I’ve got similar searches set in the Council systems, too. There was barely any security.” Willow’s eye roll made it clear “security” was a generous description. “Unfortunately, I’m not looking at eight phone lines. International organizations, no matter how lost in the Dark Ages, require way more time and effort.” Some of her enthusiasm waned. “I’m doing the best I can, Faith.”

“I know.” Right now, Willow was the _only_ one with a hope of finding Tara. Everyone else was standing around watching her work – which wasn’t right. Tara was Faith’s responsibility. She had to do more than hold up a counter. Joyce must have sensed something, because she gave Faith another squeeze and stepped away. “Thinkin’ we gotta hunt outside the box.” Except all of her thoughts were frozen. Only images of Tara remained.

_Blood oozed sluggishly from the whip marks as Tara hung in the middle of the room. Her hair was sweaty and stuck in the wounds, the blood turning the blond strands red where they touched…_

“We could always try Willy.” Buffy jostled Faith out of the grisly images in her imagination as she walked past. “I’ve got a weapons chest upstairs with more than enough toys to take care of one greasy bartender.”

Willy the Snitch knew everything there was to know about the seedy happenings in Sunnydale. But he did his best work with demons and vampires. Humans weren’t of much interest… Although, the Mayor wasn’t right in Willy’s wheelhouse, he did have vampires as allies. Not to mention that beating the crap out of Willy would work off a lot of Faith’s fear and aggression, too. “Ready when you are.”

The trip upstairs, stuffing pockets with stakes and strapping sheathed daggers to both thighs was an eerie replay of the night she and Buffy had prepped for the trip to investigate Balthazar. The night Faith had killed Finch.

“Let’s roll. We’ll take Mom’s car.” Faith nearly changed her mind about the trip when Buffy made her announcement. Buffy and cars were a bad, bad mix. Accidents happened. Trash cans and mailboxes _died_ when Buffy got behind the wheel. Buffy spotted her reaction, though, and scowled. “Xan will drive.”

That pulled a reluctant laugh out of Faith. “Bet that was your plan the whole time. You ain’t goin’ to help me with Willy. You just want time with your boy.”

The way Buffy’s eyes lit up and her lips curled at the mention of her relationship with Xander destroyed Faith’s momentary merriment. Tara used to look at _her_ like that.

_Wes was finally gone. With a sigh, Faith slouched back in her chair. Her back actually hurt from the stupid posture he’d insisted on. Like someone had stuck a metal pole up her ass. It was uncomfortable and stupid._

_“I have to do more sit-ups or something,” Tara mumbled, one hand rubbing her stomach. “Who knew perfect posture used so many abdominal muscles?” She glanced at Faith and gave the funny half-smile Faith had glimpsed several times during their study session in the library. “I’m not as fit as you.”_

Tears stung Faith’s eyes. Tara had smiled at her that day; the color of her eyes… Faith hadn’t recognized it at the time. It was the color of Tara’s love and desire and happiness. Tara had been _happy_ to be with Faith.

And Faith had ruined it all.

“Come on.” Buffy’s voice was gentle. “We don’t want to keep Willy waiting.” Her fingers brushed Faith’s arm in a barely-there touch. “The little weasel gets cocky if we don’t visit at least once a week, and I haven’t been by there in a while. He probably thinks we forgot him.”

***

The thrill of the trip was noticeably absent as Xander drove them across town. Of course, that could have been because Faith was curled up in the passenger footwell in the back seat covered in a blanket.

“If ya’ didn’t want me to come, B, all ya’ had to do was say so. I could have let you and Xan go on your own.” And then followed right behind them.

Buffy snorted. “Like I believe that.” She was apparently far smarter than Faith had ever believed. “You’d be running along beside the car.” True. “That would be fun to watch, and I’ve always wondered if the tales of Slayers outracing cars was fact or fiction. The blanket’s the better choice for now, though. I’m sure Wes has recruited more than Kendra now; they wouldn’t think twice about ignoring the restraining order if they saw you in the car.”

“Newsflash, Buffy. You already busted that. You and Xan are a lot closer than a hundred yards.” Faith tossed off the blanket. She might have to imitate a pretzel in the back seat, but she wasn’t suffocating, too. “Even Wes ain’t stupid enough to take on one of his own Slayers.”

Buffy didn’t answer. Xander didn’t laugh or crack a joke. That could only mean one thing: Faith had said something wrong. Only one thing made sense. “Me bein’ here means Wes would try to kick you out of the Council? Send Kendra after you?”

For the first time since Faith had met Buffy, the other Slayer didn’t try to sidestep a tough question. “It’s hard to get kicked out of something you don’t belong to.”

“What?” Faith forgot all about staying safe and shot up and onto the backseat. “No way!” Buffy would never leave the Council. She was the Golden Girl; the Council sent other Slayers to crappy Sunnydale just to meet her and take in a patrol or two.

“There’s a lot going on. More than just the Mayor and Tara being kidnapped.” Buffy’s eyes were haunted, and Xander’s right hand crept across the front seat to rest on Buffy’s left thigh. The touch helped a little; Buffy sighed and stroked Xander’s fingers. “I have a million things to tell you – none of which we can go over right now. Let’s just say you’re at the top of the Council’s Most Wanted list _only_ because they have legal grounds to hunt you.”

Xander cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter who’s at the top, Ma’am. You and Faith are here together and…” He flicked on the turn signal and slowed down. “I’m pretty sure we’re being followed.”

Buffy and Faith spun to look out the rear window.

“Who uses an official Council car as a tail vehicle?” Buffy asked. “Wes is such an idiot.”

He was. Faith agreed wholeheartedly. But someone else was smarter than Wes. “Don’t think that’s the only car we gotta worry about.” Their attention had been noticed. The Council car dropped back, pulling behind a mini-van full of kids. “Check out the sedan three cars back.” It was hard to see. The driver stayed to the far right of the lane, only swinging toward the center line every couple of minutes as if to keep the Jeep in sight.

“Damn it!” Buffy rarely cursed. “I am so _tired_ of this.”

So was Faith. If Buffy was tired enough…maybe she’d be willing to stop playing by the rules. “You want ‘em to go way?” she asked.

Buffy shrugged. “Sure, but what are we going to do? Whoever’s behind us is only a small part of Wes’ army. Besides, they have guns. I don’t care how good you and I are; they win. I’m ready to scream in frustration, not die.”

There were some good points in Buffy’s answer. She just didn’t have all the facts – or skills – that Faith had acquired. “I got this covered, B.” Faith was ready for action. The Council might be behind Tara’s kidnapping. Faith felt no guilt in planning a little payback. “Before we get to the next light, Xan, jam on the brakes.”

“What?” Poor boy was as blond as his Domme.

“Just do it. Like a dog or something ran in front of the car. While the guy behind us is freaking out, I’m gonna hop out and get rid of our tails.” Xander wanted to ask questions. His mouth was open and there were words coming out. Faith ignored them in favor of a sharp, “Stop, Xan! Now!” She surprised him. The Jeep fishtailed as he slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed behind them. Faith shot out of the vehicle. “I’ll be right back.”

Like Faith had hoped, the car behind Xander held one very angry driver. He was climbing out of the car as Faith sprinted past. The two Retrieval Team members in the Council car spotted her immediately. She smiled and waved at them right before unsheathing one of her daggers. It made a satisfying thud as it embedded in the front passenger-side tire wall. Air rushed out when Faith yanked it free.

Just for fun, she flattened the rear tire, too, before performing the same operation on the second tail car. The driver and passenger lacked the spit and polish of Council employees. Faith didn’t have time to snoop too much, though. The Retrieval Team was out of the car now and headed for the Jeep. She _did_ take the time to scan the license plate. If Willow could read the Mayor’s emails, finding out who owned the car would be simple.

“Punch it, Xan!” Faith dove into the back seat of the Jeep, and Xander followed her order as if he’d been trained as a getaway driver.


	58. Chapter 58

The Jeep took off like it was shot out of a cannon. Still jazzed from the action, Faith rapped out orders. “Head for campus. We need to lose the Jeep; every Council Creep in Sunnydale knows what it looks like. Probably the Mayor, too. Park by Karr Hall.” It was a residence hall along the edge of campus. “Plenty of cars there we can borrow.”

“We’re not stealing a car.” Buffy and her morals.

“You won’t be stealin’ nothing, Princess. Sit back and let me do all the hard work. If the cops show up, pretty sure they’ll believe anything you tell them.” Busy scanning the street behind them, Faith still caught the look Buffy shared with Xander. It was a look that said Faith would _not_ be showing off her hotwiring skills today.

Buffy was full of shit. Faith didn’t have time to walk to Willy’s. “Got to have a ride, B. Longer we take to get answers, the longer T’s strung up.” Saying the words ramped up Faith’s already soaring adrenaline. “You were ready to fucking kill me for sleepin’ with Xan one time. You think swipin’ a car for a couple of hours when Tara’s being _beaten_ is worse than that?”

“It’s not.” Xander met Faith’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Buffy sometimes forgets that she’s not the only Dominant – or submissive – with possession issues.”

Although Buffy sounded tired and not particularly light-hearted, she jumped into the conversation. “That’s right. It’s all about ‘me, me, me’,” she mumbled.

“Right now,”” Faith said clearly, “it’s gonna be all about ‘Tara, Tara, Tara.’ Steal a car, beat the crap outta Willy. Whatever it takes. If you can’t do it, B, let me out at the next corner and I’ll take care of business on my own.” She couldn’t, though. Faith knew she needed Buffy and her band of merry men to find Tara. Buffy knew it, too.

Buffy’s eye roll and pained sigh were familiar. So familiar, Faith knew she’d won before Buffy said, “I’m in, Faith. We’re _all_ in until we get Tara back.” When Buffy wasn’t being a bitch, she was wasn’t so bad. Like now, as she turned to face forward and put a hand on Xander’s knee. Another typical day in the life of the Scoobies.

For the first time since banging on Joyce’s door, Faith felt a touch of hope. Buffy _always_ won. Nest of vampires? No sweat. Seriously old and ugly vampire chasing a new Slayer to Sunnydale? Been there; done that. Whoever took Tara didn’t stand a chance.

Riding that breath of positive thinking, Faith reached for the bond again. _T? You there?_

Tara was there! Faith couldn’t “hear” any words. There was only a weird mental static and a split second of warmth and love. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Faith closed her eyes and “leaned” against the barrier that kept her away from Tara. _Don’t give up. Please, Tara. Don’t give up. Me and B are on our way._

No answer. Tara was gone again. Tightening her jaw, Faith vowed to make the people or vampires or whoever had Tara pay.

“We’re here.” The Jeep stopped. “I’m new to grand theft auto unless it’s on the Playstation. What kind of car are we looking for?” Faith heard the unease in Xander’s voice. He wasn’t any happier about this development than Buffy; he was just less prone to whining about it.

“Somethin’ that’s gonna blend in.” Faith hopped out and scanned the parking lot. It was full, which was a bonus. Nothing off the front couple of rows. Those were visible from the dorm rooms on this side of the building. Nothing too high-end, either. They were headed for the warehouse district. “That one.” Indicating a dirty Ford Escort with a broken taillight and a mangled antenna, Faith decided to give her accomplices some lessons in law breaking.

Some of the thrill of teaching dimmed. The car’s owner hadn’t locked it. With a silent grumble, Faith opened the front door and slid behind the wheel. “In case ya’ have to do this again,” she started, “have a screwdriver or Slayer strength handy.” In Faith’s case, Slayer strength was more than enough to pop the hidden latches on the steering column. “This one’s easy. Breaking the locking pins on the ignition with a screwdriver’s a bitch.”

“I have my very own Slayer.” Xander was enjoying himself, and his grin widened when Buffy smacked him in the stomach. “She’s handy to have around.”

Faith chuckled. “Bet she is.” With the steering column uncovered, it was easy to locate the bundles of wiring. “Lots of wires in cars. Don’t freak when you see ‘em. You want the ones that go straight into the steering column. The ones that go into the controls are for shit like turn signals and wipers.” She snagged the right group of wires. “Battery wires are almost always red – ‘cause you really ain’t supposed to be messing with them.” Since rules were made to be broken, Faith stripped about an inch of the red insulation away from the battery wires and twisted them together.

“Only a couple things left. Grab the ignition wire; it’s usually brown. Take a little off the top and be careful. This shit’s live now. Then kinda tap it against the ends of the battery wires.” An ominous click sounded as Faith suited actions to words. It took three tries before she managed to get enough of a spark for the engine to start. With a cocky grin, Faith pressed her foot to the gas pedal and revved the engine. “Hop in. I’ll drive from here.” She slammed the door on Buffy’s protest and used a little more elbow grease to break the steering lock.

Xander was the first one in, diving into the back seat and leaning forward to watch Faith put the car in gear. “I always thought my life of crime would include a better brand of getaway car.”

“We coulda done that, but you ever see a sports car at Willy’s? Not to mention, hotwiring a newer car ain’t as easy. Stick with old and American. I’ll turn you into a master car thief in no time,” Faith promised.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Buffy managed to unthaw enough to joke. “Xander looks horrible in orange – not to mention jumpsuits. And the only cuffs he’s ever wearing are mine.”

Blushing and trying to hide his pleased smile, Xander grouched. “But I’d have street cred, Buff.”

Street cred. Faith shuddered. The gangs roaming her old Boston stomping grounds would have chewed Xander up and spit him out no matter how many cars he’d boosted. “Stick with leading the Slayerettes, Xan. The pay’s better.”

Faith pulled out of the parking lot and scrupulously obeyed the speed limit. Getting pulled over by the cops would not fit in with their plan to avoid detection. Ten minutes later, she crossed the tracks into the warehouse district. There were other cars. It wasn’t late enough for the few businesses to have closed yet. And dock workers scrambled to unload a couple of freighters. She parked the car in the shadows of a derelict building and carefully separated the battery wires from the ignition wire. The car shut off.

“Show time,” Buffy announced. She was all business now. They jogged the rest of the way to the bar and stopped behind a Dumpster. Although it grated (they were there to get information on _Faith’s_ Dominant), Faith let Buffy take the lead. “Xan, you play lookout. If the Mayor took Tara, his powerbase has to be bigger than we think. He might have a few vamps on the payroll.”

More than a few. Faith realized she’d promised to spill all the Mayor’s secrets in exchange for the Scoobies’ help, but she hadn’t given up even one tiny detail of the Mayor’s plans. “Uh…B?”

Buffy shot her an impatient look. When General Buffy was on the field, it was best to shut up and follow orders.

“The Mayor...It’s a guarantee he’s got vamps working for him.” Buffy’s gaze sharpened, and Faith stiffened in response. “His head bullyboy’s a vamp, and there’s a tunnel leading right into City Hall.”

“Wow. That might have been good to know before the three of us came out here.” Buffy took a step back toward the car. “Getting information is easy. Willy expects us to blow through here, and his customers know we don’t usually stake them as long as Willy gives us the details. But today, Faith, the game’s changed. Do you know why?”

It didn’t take a genius to get Buffy’s point. There were three of them against what could easily be a fight with the Mayor’s army of minions. “My bad,” Faith acknowledged. Was Buffy going to back out of her vow to help rescue Tara?

“Yep, it was. Don’t let it happen again.” Buffy’s expression grew predatory. “I’m real sorry that the Mayor may lose some of his potential voting pool today.” She pulled a stake from a sheath and twirled it expertly. “Let’s go say ‘hi’ to Willy.”

Breathing easier, Faith followed Buffy the rest of the way to the bar. Xander took up his assigned position at the door as Buffy yanked the corrugated metal door open and leapt inside. “Hey! I heard there was this great bar nearby. Can anyone give me directions?”

All noise in the bar halted – right before an explosion of activity as drinkers tried to make a hasty exit.

Normally, Faith didn’t mind having the bar to herself. Willy was more forthcoming without an audience. Tonight was different. “B!”

“I’ve got Willy. Take care of the rest,” Buffy responded. She waded through the fleeing crowd toward the bar.

Why did Buffy get to beat up on Willy? Wasting only a second on that inequality, Faith grabbed the nearest vampire and slammed her fist into his face. “You know a vamp named Trick?” If the Mayor was using vampires to nab Tara, he’d go through Trick. The vampire stared at her stupidly, though, so she hit him again. “That help? Trick? Or a blonde witch?”

Faith must have caught the dumbest vampire in Sunnydale. He snarled and writhed in her grip. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll do this.” “This” was a heavy boot to the vampire’s family jewels. Now, instead of snarling, he whimpered. “Ready to talk? Tell me about Trick and the witch.” But he didn’t talk. Faith staked him and moved on to her next target. And the next.

She burned through a dozen vampires before realizing Buffy was trying to get her attention. “Guess it’s your lucky day,” she told the vampire dangling from her grip. He’d been as worthless as the rest of his friends, and Faith had been taking out her frustrations on his face. It had to be a relief when she ended his suffering with a well-placed stake. “You got somethin’?” she called to Buffy.

“Only a headache from listening to Willy lie. But Will just called. Looks like she’s got a lead. We need to head back to the car.” Buffy appeared tense. Even her final, “Sorry to hit and run, Willy. We’ll catch up more next time,” sounded terse.

What the Hell had Willow found? Faith barely made it out of the bar before she grabbed Buffy and demanded answers. “Did Willow find T?” A quick touch on the link showed no change from earlier. Still dark and quiet.

“Not exactly.” Buffy jerked her head in the direction of the car. “Let’s get someplace a little less exposed and I’ll fill you in.”

That meant whatever Willow had found wasn’t a simple explanation. Damn it! If Xander hadn’t been wearing Buffy’s stamped cuff, Faith would have grabbed his arm and _dragged_ his slow ass back to the car. It took forever before they were inside.

“Start it up,” Buffy ordered brusquely. “In case we need to make a run for it. We’ve got company coming.”

A crawling unease touched Faith. Vampires. Lots of them. “Talk fast, B. Where’s Tara?” She tapped the battery wires with the ignition wire. The engine coughed and sputtered but didn’t fire. Fucking perfect. Trying not to rush and electrocute herself, Faith tried again. The wires made contact and sparked. Faith’s fingers tingled.

“The Mayor called one number in Oklahoma over thirty times in the last two days _and_ there was a wire transfer to an Oklahoma bank account this morning,” Buffy said in a rush. “The number and the account belonged to a Donald Maclay, Senior.”

Tara’s father was here? Faith slapped the wires together over and over. “Did Red find anything else? Like where they are?” The vampires were getting closer. Faith’s stomach was a burning knot and every inch of her skin crawled.

“Hey, Super Thief, I’m waiting for that final lesson in hotwiring,” Xander said urgently. “You know, the one on how to get the getaway car running before the scary bad guys show up?”

“Working on it.” Faith stopped brushing the wires together. Electrocution was a better choice than ending up as vamp chow. She held the wires together in defiance of the sparks and sizzle – and the engine finally fired. “Hang on!” The tires spun, throwing dirt and rocks at the vampires starting to surround the car. They shot forward and two vampires bounced off the hood.

No one said anything until the car caught air going back across the railroad tracks. “There’s nothing like a relaxing night on the town with friends.” Buffy turned until her back rested against the passenger door.

“Night’s young,” Faith responded. “Now spill. Where’s Tara?” Tara was terrified of her father. If he was in town, it was a sure bet he was the one who’d kidnapped her. Tara had mentioned that he’d beaten her mother. And, although Tara had never admitted it, Faith figured he’d been the one to put those scars on Tara’s back.

Buffy regarded her intently. “I don’t know. She’s still hacking the Mayor’s phone and email records.”

It was hard to watch the road and Buffy at the same time. Faith’s gaze bounced back and forth and nearly missed the way Buffy reached for Xander’s hand. “B?” Shit. What else had Willow found?

“Will thought she might have triggered an alarm. The way those vamps started after us back there… I think she’s right. The Mayor must be onto us.” Buffy’s voice drilled into Faith’s mind, each word harder and sharper than the last. “She thinks he’s calling in reinforcements and making sure that Tara’s father gets out of town.”

If Maclay Senior got Tara out of Sunnydale, Faith would _never_ find her.

“There’s something else, Faith,” Buffy said. “When Willow started searching the connection between the Mayor and Mr. Maclay, she found newspaper articles and a FBI file. Maclay and his son, Donald Junior, are under investigation for a series of murders – including Tara’s mother.” 


	59. Chapter 59

Faith had been scared many times. Drunken johns, abusive and drunken _mother,_ hordes of vampires. None of them held a candle to the terror that hit Faith like a crossbow bolt. Each breath hurt. One thought banged around in her suddenly empty head. The Mayor knew Faith hadn’t turned her back on Tara. He knew Faith was actively looking for Tara. Now he’d kill Tara for sure. He wouldn’t wait for her father to do it for him. He’d send Trick or Zajicek to finish the job.

That thought picked up speed, ping-ponging against Faith’s skull. She’d felt Tara’s pain earlier. That would be nothing compared to being drained. Or… Her heart stopped. Turned. Beaten to death with Zajicek’s metal-tipped cat o’ nine or a weighted whip. His bare hands around her neck.

“Can you repeat that, Will?” Buffy’s voice interrupted Faith’s out of control imagination. Somehow, she’d missed the fact that Buffy and Willow were on the phone again. Buffy held out the phone and punched a button.

Willow’s voice, wavering and nearly overwhelmed by road noise, came through the tiny cell phone speaker. “Did you know we have traffic cameras? I didn’t. There are a few places in LA and Sacramento with them. But Sunnydale? We’re like one of only thirty cities with cameras. They’re at all of the major intersections and all over downtown.”

What the Hell was Willow babbling about? Faith reached for the phone, intent on telling Willow to get her fucking mind back in the game. Janna got there first. “We do not need a lesson in California traffic laws and enforcement, _drag_ _ᾰ_.” Rustling emanated from the phone. Probably Janna cuddling or kissing Willow. Faith snorted. Willow probably babbled just to get a little “sugar” from her Domme. “Now,” Janna continued softly, “tell us what you found. We must give Faith a chance to find Tara before the Mayor’s men do.”

There was silence on the phone. Then a deep breath. “I found traffic camera footage of two men grabbing Tara outside the doughnut shop this morning. It’s really bad quality. They were driving a pickup truck. I managed to get the license plate number, though. I should have the registration information in a few minutes.”

“It don’t matter.” They knew who the men were. Despair robbed Faith of every other emotion. It colored everything until the sheer futility of continuing the rescue efforts forced her to pull the car off the road. “We’re never gonna find T.” Faith had failed. Like she always failed. Only this time, Tara would pay the ultimate price for Faith’s failure.

Buffy’s hand landed on Faith’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Will, are there any other cameras? Did you see where the truck went?” In a quieter tone, she murmured, “We’ll find her, Faith. You can’t give up. Tara needs you. You can’t give up.”

“We’re going to find her,” Xander echoed. He reached over the back seat and placed his hand on top of Buffy’s. “In fact, I think we _already_ found Tara.”

“What?” Faith spun around in the seat.

Xander’s expression was intense. “How many times have we gone to Willy’s for information?” He clearly wasn’t looking for an answer. He kept talking, a male version of Willow. “Hundreds. Anything in the bar runs away; we get our information and destroy Willy’s inventory, and we leave. Why would those vamps come after us _this time_?”

Slow on the uptake, Faith merely stared at him.

“I think the Mayor was afraid we’d find Tara. I think we were in the one place he didn’t want us to be.” Xander pointed back the way they’d come. “Those vamps were supposed to keep us from finding out how close we were and that Tara is somewhere in the Warehouse District.”

_That_ statement Faith understood fully. She jammed the car into gear and stomped on the gas pedal. The car shot away from the curb and it was a good thing the streets were empty or she’d have run down anyone in the way of her frantic U-turn.

Over the squealing of the tires, Faith heard Buffy yelling into the phone. “We don’t have time to find other cameras! Is there anything on or in the truck we can use to find it?”

Buffy’s conversation continued. Faith tuned it out. Her focus narrowed. She pushed the car to its limits and dared the Sunnydale Police Department to pull her over as she flew back across the railroad tracks. The vampires were still there. She felt them. And, as the first derelict building came into view, Faith could see them, too. Grouped in twos and threes, they stepped out of doorways and loading bays. Watched from the tops of buildings.

Most held nothing more threatening than crowbars or knives.

Unfortunately, “most” did not equal “all”. Slayer reflexes caused the car to fishtail violently as Faith dodged a crossbow bolt headed for the windshield. “B, we got trouble,” Faith announced in case Buffy had somehow missed the action.

“Don’t tell Giles that I said he was right. I guess leaving all our own projectile weapons at home wasn’t the best decision.” Buffy shoved Xander down into the footwell where Faith had hidden when they’d left the Summers’ house. “I’ve got the license number of the truck. We’ll have to keep an eye out for it.”

Keep an eye out and manage to stay alive. Faith was staying alive, damn it! At least long enough to find Tara and make her father pay for everything he’d ever done to her. Faith pressed the gas pedal down further. Anyone who stepped in front of them was getting run over.

The extra speed helped her outrun the next wave of bolts. The final one _did_ punch a hole in the trunk. The real owner of the car probably wouldn’t be happy about the trunk ornament. Another group of vampires waited for them as Faith drove down the next roadway. Two more bolts decorated the car.

“Giles is on his way,” Buffy called out. She still had the cellphone in her hand. “He said he has reinforcements.”

Faith hoped it was Maxie and the Marines. Now that she was off the main road and working on the dark, narrow driveways of the individual businesses, the car was a much easier target. “Red ever come up with more cameras? We ain’t gonna make it much longer.” As if to prove her point, the windshield shattered and a bolt embedded in the front seat between Faith and Buffy.

“No,” Buffy answered tersely. “Xan?” She scrambled up in the seat until she was hanging over the seat back.

Son of a bitch! The bolt… Had it gone through the seat?

“Five by five, Buff,” Xander said cheerfully. “That means I’m fine, right? Not a scratch.”

If they all got out of this alive, Faith made a silent promise to kill him for borrowing her favorite phrase. Of course, she might have to stand in line. Buffy’s eyes had narrowed, and Faith shivered. Angry Dominant.

Xander must have sensed that, too. His voice was softer and more soothing when he said, “I’m fine, Ma’am. Really.”

He wouldn’t be for long. None of them would. They were running out of real estate. Only two roadways remained; one of those ran right along the water and the ships docked there. Buildings were more prevalent and closer together. The vampires had the upper hand now, despite the car.

Faith was so busy zigging and zagging to avoid the bolts flying at the car that she almost missed it. At the last minute, she noticed a battered pickup truck backed up to a loading dock. “Hang on!” She slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel sharply.

***

Tara floated. Her body was engulfed in flames, nerve endings alight with pain while her mind meandered through more pleasant memories. The memories allowed her to escape, for a moment. To forget the way she was pressed against cold concrete while her father or Donny added to the marks already covering her back.

_“Did you know that witchcraft has been in our family for nearly two hundred years?” Tara watched as her mother stroked the battered leather binding of a small diary. “Your great grandmother gave me this spell book on her deathbed.”_

_Tara reached out, fingers hovering inches from the book. “Why didn’t she give it to your mama?”_

_“Mama studied the Craft, but she didn’t truly practice.” Tara’s mother pressed the book into Tara’s hands. “Grandmama told me that she knew I would be a powerful witch, and that our family’s history in the Craft was my birthright. It’s yours now, Tara.”_

Mama had been so proud of her, of the way she’d taken to magic.

_The candles flickered as Tara completed the Circle and dropped into full lotus on the floor. Energy caressed her. She was safe here. No one could see her. No one would ever know she was practicing. She was free. Free from her father and brother. Free to finally practice magic anytime she wanted._

Magic. Tara could practice magic. Use it. Her mind was sluggish when it had to think, rather than remember. She could use her magic to be free of her father a second time. But, oh Goddess, her reservoir was empty. Not even a single droplet of power remained.

Faith. Tara had used all of her magic to protect Faith.

She’d never be free, but Faith would. That was all that mattered. Closing her eyes, Tara stopped fighting as hard hands removed the manacles from her wrists and dragged her across cold concrete floors. Continuing to fight was no use. Without her magic, Tara had no way to get free. The whip marks burned hotter than before. When she was stuffed back into the cage and the door closed, the tiny space surrounding her grew even smaller. Her father would win. He always won. He’d promised to find her if she ever ran away – and he had.

Tara’s mind slipped away from reality again.

_“What was it like when you bonded with Maxie?” Tara might pretend disinterest in the whole bonding process, but it was a lie. She ached to have what others had. What Trish and Maxie had._

_Tears stung her eyes when Trish smiled softly. “It was incredible. I was nine, and it was my birthday. Everyone was singing ‘Happy Birthday’ when someone told me hurry up and blow out the candles or the whole thing might go up in flames. Then this voice told me that she preferred lemon to vanilla and that she was allergic to chocolate so I better enjoy this cake while I could.” Throwing her hands up in the air, Trish continued. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”_

_No. Maxie was still loud and opinionated. And it was clear Trish wouldn’t have it any other way._

Real tears, not remembered ones, filled Tara’s eyes before dripping down her cheeks. She’d actually _had_ what Trish and Maxie shared. For one unbelievable evening. The only night Faith had seemed to want their bond.

What if things had been different? What if Faith hadn’t panicked when Tara had pointed out the collar?

With nothing left to lose, Tara let her imagination edit and recreate the scene.

_“Say the word, Faith. Ask me, and I’ll mark you as mine,” Tara said. Her fingers warmed from the heat of Faith’s skin; she felt the way Faith convulsively swallowed._

_Warm brown eyes, a little dazed and softened by widened irises, met Tara’s gaze before dropping. A shiver worked its way through Tara at that overt sign of Faith’s submission. “I…I don’t…”_

_Tara didn’t allow Faith to back away emotionally. Not this time. With gentle and inexorable insistence, she repeated, “Ask me, Faith.”_

_“Tara.” There was a hint of a plea, of vulnerability. “Tara…”_

Lost in fantasy, Tara didn’t hear the resounding _boom_ of the warehouse door as it flew from its hinges and landed on the concrete floor. She didn’t hear her father yell, “Who are you? Get out! This is none of your business!”

“Tara!” The fear and urgency in Faith’s voice ripped through the fabric of her fantasy. “Tara! Where are you?”

Peering through the cage door, Tara watched Faith shove her father out of the way with enough force to launch him bodily through the air. Why was Faith here? Tara had poured the last of her magic through the bond before closing the link. She’d given Faith what she wanted: her freedom.

She was still staring at Faith in confusion when Faith spotted the crate. Tara shrank away from the terrifying expression Faith wore as she charged across the warehouse. “Hang on, T. Hang on.” The crate creaked and groaned. “Son of a bitch! Fucking open!” A knife tip exploded through the top panel. With loud tearing noises, it sawed through the heavy plastic.

“Faith! Hurry up! We’re running out of time!” Buffy was in the warehouse, too.

They’d come for her. Tara started to cry again. With each soul-shaking sob, the knife cut through the crate with more force and speed. “Ah, hell, T. Please. Please stop. I won’t let ‘em near you again. I promise.” Was Faith crying, too? Her voice was rough and shaky, squeaking at times.

As Tara inched toward the crate door to peer at Faith, the knife disappeared and the top of the crate lifted away.

***

Faith forgot all about Tara’s family and the horde of vampires lighting up her Slayer warning system. None of that mattered with Tara huddled on the floor of that fucking crate, staring at her with terror and tears in her eyes. “Hey,” she whispered. Or tried to. Her voice failed, nothing more than an embarrassing squeak coming out. “If ya’ wanted to take a trip, you could at least have tried the bus. Seats ain’t much but there’s a bathroom in the back and you can usually grab a nap if there ain’t any screaming kids.”

Moving slowly so she didn’t scare Tara further, Faith crouched down and held out a hand. “Come here. Come on. I’ve got you.” It was important Tara knew that. Knew that Faith had her and would keep her safe now. She waited with her hand outstretched, the way Tara had done so many times for her.

“If she can’t walk, pick up the crate.” Buffy was a bitch. Faith fought back a scowl at the uncaring way Buffy acted. “We’ve got about two minutes before this place is swarming with vampires.”

Buffy was the best Slayer in Sunnydale. Maybe in the entire Council. That’s what Wes and Giles had drilled into Faith’s head. Killing a few dozen vampires on her own would be easy for the Golden Girl.

Faith had other priorities. “T?” she pressed gently.

A soft hand slowly extended from the crate, settling into Faith’s grasp. “Thank you.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, Faith carefully pulled until Tara stood, naked and unsteady, in the wreckage of the travel crate.

Naked. Tara would _hate_ to be naked in front of Buffy and Xander. Faith scanned the warehouse, looking for anything to use. Tara’s clothes were in tatters against a wall decorated with chains. Faith’s jeans jacket would scrape terribly against the blood-encrusted gashes across Tara’s back.

There was a blanket back in the car. Faith’s Slayer senses screamed, though. She couldn’t risk leaving the warehouse to get it. “Be right back.” Turning away, she stalked across the warehouse toward Tara’s brother.

“Leave them for later.” Buffy was in full General Mode. She barked out orders like she had an army at her back and not just Xander and Faith. “Grab anything that looks like a weapon. Faith, get Tara into that area there.” She pointed to a corner that would be easily defensible – if Faith listened.

She didn’t listen. Faith let Buffy keep talking and grabbed Tara’s brother by his shirt collar, lifting him off his feet. “Strip.”

He glared back defiantly.

Cool. Faith had wanted to beat the crap out of him. He’d given her yet another reason. Without letting go of his shirt, she hit him once. The blow shattered his nose, and blood fountained. That spurred Faith to hit him again out of sheer frustration with her own stupidity. She wanted his clothes for Tara – and now his shirt was soaked with blood all down the front. Oh, well. It was still better than leaving Tara naked. “Take your shirt off. Now.” Then, because she was tired of waiting on Tara’s brainless brother, Faith reached out and yanked it over his head. Banging his broken nose along the way was just a bonus.

“Here.” Faith’s anger and impatience was completely absent as she returned to Tara with the shirt. “I’ll help ya’ put it on.”

Tara’s eyes were wide and unfocused. She stared blankly at Faith, arms hanging limply at her sides. It was a big clue to Tara’s mental state. She’d blushed and hidden her body from Faith, the bondmate she had wanted to collar. Tara made _no_ attempt to shield her body from Xander or Buffy. “Give me your arm, T.” Faith used the same soft, almost teasing tone she’d employed on the Tiger Cubs when helping them don their _gi_. “That’s it,” she encouraged even though Tara never moved. With utmost care, Faith inserted Tara’s arms into the armholes and pulled the shirt over Tara’s head.

The large shirt dwarfed Tara, but the cotton must have really hurt. Breath hissed between Tara’s teeth in a sharp whistle.

“I’m sorry.” Faith wanted to hug Tara. To hold her. To do _something_ to make the tears blurring Tara’s eyes go away and the lost, blank expression on Tara’s face disappear.

“Faith!” The swelling cramp in Faith’s senses matched the new urgency in Buffy’s voice.

Another duty had a stronger calling. With a last gentle touch on Tara’s cheek, Faith spun and sprinted across the warehouse in time to meet the first three vampires through the loading dock door.


	60. Chapter 60

The warehouse was utter chaos. Three vampires became a dozen. Then two dozen. They flooded in through the loading bay and side doors Faith hadn’t noticed in the mad dash to get to Tara. That oversight was costly. In seconds, the Scoobies were surrounded.

With not a shred of guilt, Faith shoved Papa Maclay and Junior toward the horde and dragged Tara behind her. Buffy had done the same with Xander. She and Faith stood shoulder to shoulder in front of their bondmates.

Faith’s distraction garnered them mere seconds to brace for the coming attack. The vampires weren’t interested in Tara’s worthless family. Instead of eating them, as Faith had half-hoped, the Mayor’s goons simply shoved them out of the way. With a few kicks and snarls and at least one good punch apiece.

That left Buffy and Faith staring straight at a whole lot of forehead ridges and sharp teeth. “Eight to one odds. I feel sorry for them, don’t you?” Buffy asked in a conversational tone. She had stakes in both hands.

This wasn’t like previous patrols. Faith wasn’t raring to go and full of arrogance. Tara huddled only a step behind her. If Faith failed to keep her safe… Fear robbed her of her usual bravado. She grunted, hoping to hide the way her hands shook, the way each breath took effort. The fangy wonders creeping closer were just vamps. Faith was _good_ at killing vampires. “Wanna leave a couple for your boy?” Only a little of her tension leaked into the taunt.

“I can handle more than a couple,” Xander immediately protested.

Before their lame comedy routine could go any further, one of the vampires lunged forward – and the battle was on.

Faith struggled to stay focused. She stabbed and blocked, ducked, rolled, and jumped with only half her mind. The other half was constantly aware of Tara and the vampires who ignored the threat Faith and Buffy posed in order to get to Tara.

Even now, the Mayor didn’t appear to be after Buffy and Faith. They would be bonus kills at best. Faith had no doubt that the real target was Tara. Vampires rushed forward; rather than engaging with Faith or Buffy, though, they tried to slip between the Slayers. Faith’s focus returned with a vengeance, and the first rank of vampires paid with their lives. No one was laying a hand on Tara. Not while Faith was on the job.

With Faith’s rhythm restored, she and Buffy drifted closer together. It made the gap in their defenses smaller. Helped them work together more seamlessly. Their movements were eerily synchronized, perfect mirror images of the other. Buffy ducked as Faith jumped. One stabbed just as the other blocked. It worked – just the way it had on so many joint patrols. They ripped through row after row of vampires.

However, they didn’t battle unscathed. Twice, Faith went down under the onslaught. Buffy picked up the slack in the fight while Xander dragged her back onto her feet. Luckily, these weren’t special Illuminati vampires with swords and legendary skills. These were run of the mill, dust ‘em by the dozen vampires. There were simply so many of them.

There would be bruises on Faith’s ribs in the morning. Stitches is a few places, too. Even stupid vampires got lucky.

Riding a wave of adrenaline, Faith ignored her minor wounds. The growing exhaustion. She and Buffy had been bred for this. Now, with Tara just a few feet away, Faith moved faster and with more purpose. She didn’t play with “her” vampires as she normally would. She simply staked them and let the next one walk over his fallen comrade’s ash-y remains.

She thought she glimpsed a thinning in the ranks when a shout pulled the next wave of attackers up short. Blue, white, and red lights flashed outside, and the whole warehouse lit up as someone aimed a spotlight at the loading dock. “FBI! Everyone put your hands in the air!”

FBI? What the Hell were they doing here? Were they planning to _arrest_ the vampires? The vampires in question weren’t worried. With a howl, one of the vampires threw himself forward. He made it one step before an arrow embedded in his back and he turned to so much dust in the wind.

It became open season on vampires. Arrows filled the air. Buffy and Faith moved back, staying protectively in front of Xander and Tara.

“Cavalry?” Faith asked. Now that the action had slowed, she felt every ache and pain. She panted then hissed as a quick check behind her tweaked her sore ribs.

“Probably.” Still on guard, Buffy managed a quick grin in Faith’s direction. Blood and dirt streaked her face but couldn’t dim the feral gleam in her eyes. “Unless the FBI’s decided to add the undead to their ‘Most Wanted’ list.”

The girl was a comedian. “Think they might want to leave that to the experts, B.” Keeping an eye on the suddenly demoralized and fleeing vampires, Faith sidled up to Tara. She was still silent and withdrawn. The oversized shirt was flecked with blood where it had touched Tara’s back. “You’re a fuckin’ mess, T,” Faith mumbled. What was she supposed to do? How could she bring Tara back to the here and now?

She sensed movement behind and spun, ready to rain more death on the vampires. This group didn’t need staking, though. Cops crept in and they had their emergency medical friends with them.

Only…Tara wasn’t going to go with them willingly. Faith knew that on some instinctive level. No way. Tara hated anyone to see her naked. Not to mention she’d done a hell of a job hiding her previous scars from everyone. She’s never want anyone to realize that she’d been abused.

Without conscious thought, Faith stepped even closer to Tara. Still well out of Tara’s personal space. No reason to spook her; Faith could see she was already close to running. “Hey, let’s motor.”

There was no response, which wasn’t a shock. How could she get Tara to move? She needed someone to look at those marks on her back. Tara always made getting Faith to do what she wanted look so easy; she’d convinced Faith to do a crap load of things Faith hadn’t wanted to do. Faith didn’t have deep blue eyes that would suck Tara in. She had…

Inspiration struck. “I’m starvin’. You think Maxie and Trish ate all the fried chicken? Or that bitch Monica? Bet she and her boy toy dug in.” Faith had never met anyone so dedicated to making sure Faith ate and took care of herself as Tara. Surely that would work. Just in case, though, Faith hedged her bets. She held out her hand one more time and waited.

_That_ snagged Tara’s attention. Her eyes fastened on Faith’s hand.

Come on, little fishy. Faith wiggled her fingers. “Stomach’s growlin’ just thinking about that chicken. Love mashed potatoes, too.” Inch by slow inch, Tara crept forward. Faith never moved. She simply stood and allowed Tara to come to her. All the cops, Giles, Janna… She ignored them all. She would stand in this one spot and wait until Tara felt safe enough to take her hand.

***

The concrete floor was cold. So cold it radiated into Tara’s bones. Everything was cold except Faith’s voice. It was warm. She wanted to wrap herself in that warmth.

“Bet you made gravy for the potatoes, too. White gravy’s my favorite, but ain’t nothing wrong with brown gravy. Pour it on so the potatoes are swimmin’ in it. And rolls. Fuck, I’m gonna starve to death soon. What about rolls? You make some of those, T?” Tara loved Faith’s husky voice.

It made her shiver. She took a step toward Faith, hand lifting just an inch.

“What’s takin’ so long, huh?” Faith spoke softly as she wiggled her fingers again. “Said I was starvin’. Get the lead out.”

“You are so bad,” Tara accused. Her voice sounded funny. Tight. Rough. Her footsteps faltered. Her voice. Her throat hurt like she’d…She’d been screaming. Goddess, she’d screamed because of her father and his whip.

“Nah, I’m not bad,” Faith said. The comment pulled at Tara, distracted her from the nightmare memories. “Not much. Kinda bent and twisted, yeah? ‘Course that might change if ya’ don’t feed me soon.”

Faith’s cocky grin and her still-outstretched hand drew Tara forward another step. Then another. Tara reached out. “Nothing m-matters but you and th-that beast you call a stomach.” Warm fingers linked with hers and pulled her into the protection of a warm arm. “I think you’ll be fine for a few more minutes.”

Was it her imagination, or did the arm holding her close tighten a little more? “Doubt it. Xander almost lost an arm on the way over here. And he ain’t got enough meat on him to fill me up.”

Forgetting about the lingering burn and itch in her back and the fear knotting her stomach, Tara sighed and sagged into Faith. There was no mistaking the way Faith cuddled her closer this time. Her free hand wrapped around Tara’s stomach. Surrounding Tara in Faith’s warmth.

It seeped through her skin, into her heart and soul. Tara took her first free breath in hours.

Her comfortable cocoon lasted for exactly one breath. Then reality, in the form of uniform-clad EMTs and wind-breaker wearing FBI agents crashed her internal wellness party. “Ma’am!” An earnest young man rushed forward carrying a dizzying array of medical equipment. “If you’ll come with me? There’s a stretcher…”

Faith’s arm was suddenly an anchor. A heavy weight that held Tara in place when she wanted to turn tail and run.

“Don’t need no stretcher.” Despite her heavy arm, Faith managed to steer Tara around the EMT and toward the loading dock. Faith was magnificent, Tara decided right then and there. Tara raised their still-joined hands and pressed a light kiss on Faith’s fingers in silent thanks. She wished she’d _bitten_ those fingers when Faith continued. “We’ll meet ya’ outside. She needs some TLC.”

“No!” Planting her feet, Tara refused to go another step.

Well, that was her intention. Faith apparently didn’t realize Tara meant to stop. And stay stopped. Faith’s arm became a hook. The gentle hug provided all the leverage Faith needed to drag Tara out of the warehouse and in the direction of one of the emergency vehicles parked nearby. “Huh. Giles got the Council doc. He’ll take good care of you. Took care of me after… after I got in trouble last time.” Faith’s voice faltered. She slowed, and Tara used the opportunity to try to slip away again. She failed. Again. “He’s good, T. Let him check ya’ out and then you and me got a date. My mouth’s watering thinkin’ about that fried chicken.”

Some of the fog in Tara’s mind lifted. “You tricked me!” she accused Faith. Faith wasn’t hungry. She’d made that up to get Tara to do what she wanted.

As if to prove Tara’s point, Faith dropped her arm and stepped away from Tara. “It ain’t like that.” She turned so that she could peer into Tara’s eyes. “You’re hurt. You need to get checked out. Some of the marks…” Something terrible filled Faith’s gaze. Something that scared Tara. “You’re gonna have more scars. And if you don’t let the doc look at your back, some of ‘em might get infected. Please, T. Let him look.”

“Why do you care?” Tara asked harshly. Her pain needed an outlet. A target. Faith had offered herself up. “I’m not what you want. You’ve t-told me a million times. Even sh-showed me when you went with that man last night. I’m not good enough, am I? I can’t give you what you need. I don’t even know why you’re here. It would be easier for you if my father had finished what he started.” The pain inside outstripped whatever pain remained from the whipping.

Faith took a shocked step back, and her gaze fell away from Tara’s.

“I don’t need your help.” It was a lie. Tara wanted Faith’s arms around her so very much. She wanted to lean on her strength. She wouldn’t. Not ever again. Faith had made her choice – and it hadn’t been Tara.

“T…Tara, please.” Faith raised her eyes stared at her, and Tara fought every instinct to care and comfort at the confusion and hurt in that usually brash and assured voice.

Tara might have given in, might have burrowed into Faith’s arms, if one of the FBI agents hadn’t interrupted. “Miss Maclay? Would you mind answering a few questions?” A tall, thin man smiled at Tara in what was probably supposed to be reassurance. “It will only take a few minutes, I promise.”

Talking about the day or her father was the last thing Tara wanted. She’d run all the way to Sunnydale, California, to get away from him. From the things he’d done before. “Of course,” she said softly.

“No fucking way!” Faith was on the agent before he registered the threat. “You stupid? She’s hurt.” Her hands gripped the lapels of his blue windbreaker, and she lifted him completely off the ground. “Leave her the fuck alone until the doc takes care of her!”

People rushed their way. Buffy, Giles, Janna, and a handful of other agents. Tara waited for them to intervene and pull Faith away. They didn’t. In fact, no one tried to free the FBI agent. “I thought I explained the situation,” Giles snapped. He turned to one of the other agents. “Bloody hell, man! They are recently bonded and Tara is clearly injured. A little compassion and sensitivity would not be amiss. You are quite lucky Faith has enough control to only dangle your man like a child’s toy.”

The agent Giles shouted at didn’t appear convinced. Tara was, in spite of her vow to walk away. Faith wasn’t an unfeeling monster. She’d been…a friend. A willing submissive for their afternoon together. She’d obviously cared enough to rescue Tara. “Faith, sweetie, please put him down.”

The agent’s toes barely scraped the pavement.

“All the way down.” A glimmer of amusement lightened Tara’s mood. Trust Faith to resist. She was always so stubborn.

With a grunt, Faith let go and the man stumbled as he hit the ground. “Only ‘cause _you_ asked, T.” She was still angry. Tara saw it in the clenched jaw and fists. The way Faith shifted from foot to foot. “Guy deserved way more than that.”

Despite everything that had happened, Faith’s actions – all on Tara’s behalf – were touching. Tara couldn’t resist stroking a finger along the collar of Faith’s jacket. “He was only doing his job, but thank you.” Goddess, was there anything more beautiful than Faith’s smile? Tara had to be strong, though. She couldn’t risk leaning on Faith. She couldn’t take another blow to her heart when Faith turned and walked away for good. Better to walk away herself.

Steeling herself, Tara dropped her hand and turned to Janna. “Would you mind giving me a ride home?”


	61. Chapter 61

One of Janna’s eyebrows twitched, but she nodded at Tara’s request. “Of course, I will.” Then her voice grew firm. “After you let the doctor look at your back. Faith was right. He’s very good; you don’t want the marks getting infected.”

Tara wanted to object. She planned on it. Until she scanned the group clustered around her. Each and every one of them, Dominant and submissive alike, appeared resolute. They would stop her before she took one step toward Janna’s car. Tara relented. With a stately nod, she turned and crossed the brightly illuminated alley with Janna on one side and Faith on the other.

“Doctor Timmons, this is Tara.” Janna made the introductions.

He waved a hand at the ambulance behind him. “If you’ll step in here…” Timmons didn’t touch Tara; his gaze drifted up, over her shoulder, and stayed there. “It won’t take long. I only need to treat the wounds and give her an injection.”

Her? Why was he talking about Tara in the third person? Following Timmons’ stare, Tara turned her head and ran right into Faith. A very tense and on edge Faith. A Faith who vibrated with barely restrained violence.

Why was Faith so angry? Tara was still too fogged with exhaustion and pain to make sense of the scene. The only thing she understood was that she had no choice about letting Timmons take a look at her back. It was that or walk all the way to Trish’s, and she wasn’t sure she’d make it across the parking lot. “I’ll be right back,” Tara mumbled in Janna’s general direction. With extreme reluctance, she started to climb into the ambulance behind Timmons.

Warm, gentle hands helped Tara mount the steep steps. Tara never glanced back. Even though she knew to whom the hands belonged, keeping her steady on her feet. Not even when a soft and worried presence crowded the block over the link.

***

The ambulance door closed with a soft thud, leaving Faith alone and abandoned in the alleyway. Tara had shut her out. Said she didn’t need Faith. She’d even asked _Janna_ to take her home. Reeling from Tara’s actions, Faith turned and trudged back toward the warehouse.

Xander was a half-step behind her. “Want to hit the all-night diner? I’m starving.” He waggled his eyebrows when she glanced at him. “If you say yes, then Buffy will go, too. Otherwise, she’ll just want to go home and eat yogurt or something just as girly. I hate yogurt.”

Faith wasn’t in the mood for food. Not anymore. She wanted…wanted…She didn’t know what she wanted. Cry. Kick something. Both.

“Please? Come on. You can’t let me starve to death.” He trotted to catch up with Faith and grabbed her arm. “I’ll beg.”

Stopping, Faith fought to find her emotional footing before Xander paid the price for the whirling inferno building inside Faith. This was Xander, goofy grin and all. On one hand, she wanted to smack the grin off his face. Hit him until her pain and burgeoning rage were gone. Her hand was already fisted.

Xander must have noticed. His eyes widened and the grin slipped. Xander didn’t move away, though. He was a trained Scooby. Instead of running for safety, damned if he didn’t step closer. The hand on Faith’s arm shifted until Xander had an arm around her waist. The half-hug wasn’t as good as one of Tara’s, but it tugged at Faith’s heart all the same.

And that meant Faith was left with only her second choice: being a wimp and huddling against him. She’d never realized how much she come to count on Tara. Now that Tara wasn’t there, waiting on Faith to stop pretending she didn’t care (and Faith was _almost_ ready to admit she’d been pretending), her body felt strangely hollow. Empty. There was nothing left inside to prop her up.

“How do you prefer your begging?” Xander rattled on as if Faith wasn’t on the verge of breaking down, and he was the only thing holding her together. “Kneeling? That’s Buffy’s favorite. Flat on the ground? I might have to say no to that. This concrete…Does anyone know where it’s been or who’s walked on it?”

Faith faced the fact that she’d fucked up again. She’d told Tara she didn’t want her, over and over again. Now that she’d gotten her head out of her ass, it was too late. Tara had walked away.

_“I don’t need your help.”_ All cold and cutting. Not a hint of command or caring anywhere in the words.

“Leave the grovelin’ with B.” Pushing away from Xander, Faith lengthened her stride and set course for a cluster of FBI agents – and Tara’s family. Xander couldn’t keep up. It worked in Faith’s favor. So did the fact the agents didn’t realize what Faith had planned. Grabbing one agent by the jacket, she yanked him out of the way. A good shove took care of two more.

Papa Maclay and Junior were all hers.

Junior was smarter than his old man. Of course, he still wore reminders of Faith’s retribution: blood caked his face and his skinny, hairless chest. And his nose was the size of a softball. Junior squeaked and stumbled backward as fast as the leg cuffs allowed.

Tara’s father stood there like he didn’t have a care in the world. Faith _gave_ him something to care about. She felt ribs break under the fist she rammed into his stomach. The follow-up punch landed on his jaw.

He staggered, and Faith enjoyed the site of him fighting for balance against the short chain stretched between his leg cuffs. It wasn’t enough payback, though. Faith followed, intent on showing him just what she thought of his treatment of Tara. One of the agents, though, stepped in her way. “Step back, please.”

Really? Faith was a Slayer. The guy didn’t have his gun out. There was only one of him. His buddies were standing on the sidelines watching the show. These men had hurt _her bondmate_. As long as Faith left them alive, the law was (mostly) on her side. Employing full-out speed, Faith was around the agent in a flash. Papa Maclay was flat on the ground before the agent managed blink. Faith lashed out, and he screamed when she kicked him. Her rage exploded in a primal scream as another kick landed.

The alley narrowed as Faith focused entirely on Papa Maclay. Dropping to a knee, she put a hand on his throat. “You hurt Tara,” she whispered tightly. “That was a big fucking mistake.” He gagged and sputtered as her fingers closed around his neck. “You hurt Tara; no one gets to do that.”

The words didn’t have the effect she intended. Papa Maclay simply sneered; it was _Faith_ who flinched at her own accusation. She’d hurt Tara, too. The hesitation cost Maclay. Faith chased her inner demons away with a wicked right cross. Her position didn’t give her as much leverage as standing would have; it was probably the only thing that saved Maclay’s life.

_Now_ the other agents moved. They formed a loose semi-circle around Faith and the Maclays. None of them were stupid enough to get any closer. “Ms. Lehane, please. You need to let us handle the suspects.” The new speaker was an older man with short-clipped hair and a narrow leather collar peeking over the top of his starched white dress shirt. “I understand. I do. But it’s our job to take them into custody.” He pushed his jacket back, revealing the butt of a gun. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. The warning was clear.

Faith didn’t care about the FBI, though. The Maclays had hurt Tara one too many times. They had to pay, no matter the cost for her.

“Tara needs you, Faith.” Xander slipped through the ring of agents and dropped to his knees next to Faith. Hands resting on his thighs, he watched her closely. “If anyone had hurt Buffy, I’d want to beat the crap out of them, too. Not like you. I can’t rip people apart, no matter how much I want to. Only…Getting revenge would heal Buffy. It might make _me_ feel better – for about a whole minute.” A tiny grin crept out. Not his usual all-out goofy grin. This one invited Faith to share the joke. “Then I’d remember that Buffy was hurt and I wasn’t there with her. No matter how much I’d want to hurt the people who hurt Buffy, I’d want to be with Buffy more. She’d need me to take care of her. Even the big, bad Slayer needs someone to hold her hand. I’m the only one who gets to do that. Buffy won’t show that side of her to anyone else. I bet Tara’s like that, too. Am I right?”

Faith couldn’t answer because she didn’t _know_ the answer. Then she remembered Tara curled against her side, voice soft and pained, as she’d told Faith about her family. “Yeah. Yeah, T don’t like lettin’ people see…” Except, Tara had shared that with _her_. Restless energy exploded through Faith. She vibrated with it. She needed to find Tara. To help her.

She stood, pulling Xander with her. The FBI agents rushed to Maclay’s side. Faith ignored them as she scanned the alley.

“Tara’s still in with the doctor.” Was Xander reading Faith’s mind?

Faith said urgently, “I gotta be in there with her.”

“I know.” Maybe he did. Faith had never seen him look so grim. “The bond. The emotional sharing. It’s horrible and wonderful at the same time. You can’t shut it out. You can’t control it.” His voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him. “No matter how bad it gets. No matter how much you hurt each other. Every part of you wants to run to her.”

Hell, yeah. Why were they still standing all the way over here with the FBI?

“Too bad we don’t get to decide what we do. We can’t just go to them if they don’t want that,” Xander continued. His voice grew stronger, tinged with bitterness. “They hold all the power. _Dominants.”_ He said the word like he was cursing.

The same way Faith had said it all her life. Dominants. Arrogant, powerful bastards who thought they ruled the world and everyone in it. “T don’t know what she wants.” Tara was hurt and confused. She’d turned her back on Faith.

What if Tara _wasn’t_ confused, though? What if she blamed Faith for her father showing up? Faith still technically worked for the Mayor. What if Tara believed Faith had conspired with the Mayor? Told him about Tara’s childhood and how she’d run from the family farm?

Faith stumbled, all the strength in her muscles gone. She would have face-planted in the concrete if Xander hadn’t held her upright again. No! Tara couldn’t believe that. Faith would _never_ have betrayed her…

But Faith _had_ betrayed Tara.

“Xan…” Faith stared at him, barely seeing him through the mental replay of every thoughtless, _stupid_ thing she’d ever done around Tara. No wonder Tara had walked away. In Tara’s shoes, Faith would have, too (after hitting them a few times just to share the hurt). In spite of her liquid muscles, Faith slipped from Xander’s hold and staggered a few steps toward the ambulance. She had to make Tara understand.

One of the agents, a Dominant of course, detached himself from the crowd around the Maclays. He grabbed Faith’s arm and peered intently at her. “Are you injured? Why didn’t you say something?” He was already waving a hand at one of the EMTs.

“We’ll have one of our own doctors take a look at Ms. Lehane.” Lydia walked over. Her heels clicked sharply on the concrete and her stiffly-starched blouse was covered by a wool jacket. She was the poster child for Watchers everywhere.

Faith didn’t care about Lydia or Council doctors unless Tara was with them. She yanked away from the agent. He and Lydia could argue all they wanted –without her.

Unfortunately, the FBI agent didn’t give up. “You aren’t leaving until one of the doctors, Council or otherwise, gives you the green light.”

“No!” Faith had only one place to be: with Tara. “Get the fuck outta my way.” Before she forgot he had helped rescue Tara and tossed him across the parking lot.

“Do stop being tiresome, Faith. There is much work to be done. We cannot afford to waste more time.” Lydia sniffed, the same disdainful sound every Watcher except Giles made when confronted with any of Faith’s less-than-golden actions. “The FBI is our ally. If you do not wish to see one of the medical personnel, no one will make you. However, you cannot stand here as if we had chained you to the pavement. Xander, if Faith cannot walk on her own, do be a good boy and carry her wherever she wishes to go.” Without waiting to see if anyone followed her insane commands, she gestured to the FBI agent and they hurried off together.

“Uh…” Xander coughed slightly.

“You try to pick me up and I’ll break your arms and legs,” Faith commented. “Don’t matter that we’re surrounded with cops. Got it?”

His nod was enthusiastic. “The agent was right, though. You’ve got some pretty good gashes on your arms. If I promise to never, ever even _mention_ tossing you over my shoulder, we could get someone to stitch you up.” At Faith’s level stare, he shrugged. “Or we could skip that completely. You want to see Tara? I haven’t seen her leave the ambulance. Or we could join Buffy and Giles. She said to tell you they’re laying out all the evidence against the Mayor to some bigwig at the FBI.”

See Tara or help bring down the Mayor. Faith hesitated. Every instinct hummed with the need to go to Tara. Her eyes sought out the ambulance, willing the back door to open and for Tara to emerge. It didn’t happen. The door remained closed, exactly like the link in Faith’s mind. “Yeah, yeah I got a lot of dirt on the Mayor. Maybe I can help with that.” And she owed the Mayor that and more for fucking with Tara. Just this once, maybe Faith’s luck would be _good_ and Tara would be out of the ambulance and ready to let Faith apologize by the time she finished talking with Giles’ FBI friends.

***

“You were very lucky. Your girl and her friends got to you before you were further injured. Some of those marks will still scar.” Dr. Timmins tilted his head and regarded Tara thoughtfully. “The older marks. Your father also?”

Huddling on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, Tara didn’t respond. Did her answer really matter? She had scars; she would have more. She’d known that without his information.

Timmins kept talking without her response. Tara tuned him out. She wanted to go home, only…she didn’t know where that was anymore. Home wasn’t the farm. A shudder racked her body, and the paper exam gown rustled from the force. Home wasn’t a solitary dorm room anymore. That had only worked until Trish and Maxie (and Althenea) had dragged Tara out of hiding. She didn’t think “home” would ever be Maxie and Trish’s again. There were too many memories that now included Faith.

“Well, unless you have any questions, you’re free to go.” Timmins continued to watch Tara as if he believed she’d suddenly decide to tell him all her secrets. “I’ll leave some prescription information with Janna or your girl. You’ll need to have them filled immediately and take them until we have a follow up appointment in a few days.”

He was out of luck. Tara had no intention of seeing him again. “Thank you,” Tara mumbled. She slid off the stretcher and waited, unmoving, until Timmins climbed out of the ambulance. Dragging on the EMT uniform Timmins had left for her hurt. But only a little. Tara was chock full of nifty pain killers and antibiotics. Her head swam, and it took several tries to master the buttons on the uniform shirt. The paper booties were a nightmare, but they, too, eventually went on.

Dressed and cleared by the Council’s own doctor, Tara shoved open the ambulance door. Janna was right there to grab her arm and keep her from tumbling to the ground. “Careful! It’s a long way down.”

With all the drugs in her system, Tara figured she wouldn’t feel a thing. She _did_ slow down as she navigated the steps back to the ground. Once her feet were firmly planted, she glanced around. The crowd of agents had grown. Her father and brother were still there, too. Handcuffed and surrounded.

It was terrible. Unworthy of a good Wiccan. Tara was _pleased_ her family was restrained. Even though she would normally never wish harm to anyone… Her father and brother deserved to experience the Rule of Three.

Something tickled her awareness. Continuing her perusal of the crime scene, Tara saw Faith watching her. It was far too dark, even with the vehicle lights illuminating the area, to actually see Faith’s eyes. Tara felt them, though. Soft and warm and worried.

A sigh escaped Tara; a tiny, broken sound suspiciously like a sob. She stifled it almost immediately. She couldn’t afford to be weak anymore. Faith had made her choice, and Tara would respect that. Timmins’ high-powered drugs couldn’t prevent the ache in Tara’s heart as she took one last look at Faith before turning to Janna. “I’m ready.”

“For bed, I hope.” Janna’s comment was brusque; her touch was gentle as she steadied Tara as they walked to a Volkswagen Beetle. “Why don’t you stretch out in back? I’m pretty sure I remember the address from your Council contract. Or I can grab Faith so she can co-pilot while you doze.”

"No!” Tara snapped then blushed so hard her entire body heated. “S-sorry. I...I’ll be f-fine. Faith’s busy.” It was a logical explanation. Faith _had_ appeared to be busy. “Can we just go?” One of the agents, the same agent Faith had threatened earlier, was bearing down on them. “I d-don’t th-think I can deal with anything else tonight.”

It was as if Tara had said the magic word. Janna immediately ushered Tara into the front passenger door. “I’ll be right back.” Closing Tara into the car, she intercepted the agent. Tara couldn’t hear their conversation; however, it was animated (Janna waved her hands and pointed enthusiastically) and brief. Only a few minutes had passed before Janna returned and got behind the wheel. “Where to? I’ll get you settled in and then head to the drug store. I may not be employed by the Council anymore but I still have enough pull to get someone to open the doors early.”


	62. Chapter 62

Nothing was going right. Giles was losing his cool with his FBI buddy. “We have gone over this,” he snapped. “We uncovered information that the Mayor has been working with the local vampire population…”

He was fighting a losing battle. Faith knew Giles wouldn’t throw Willow under the bus and admit she’d hacked the City Hall computers. It wasn’t the first time Giles had tap danced around the truth when calling in other agencies. This, time, though, dancing wasn’t enough. The FBI guy wasn’t buying the act. “So you’ve said. I’m not questioning the information, Rupert, but this is more than chasing a demon across state lines. You’re accusing a government official of actually conspiring with suspected murderers and with the undead. I need you to connect the dots on your evidence.

There was only one option, and Faith owed Giles and Buffy. Hell, she’d promised to tell them everything when she’d busted into the Summers’ home. She needed to make good on that now. “I saw the Mayor with the vamps.”

Everyone turned to look at Faith. “Excuse me?” the FBI guy asked.

Faith didn’t lash out the way she wanted at his rude, disbelieving tone. She glanced at the ambulance in the alley to remind herself why she was here. Of what was important. Tara was gone. Faith had seen her climb into Janna’s car. Staring at the last place she’d seen Tara, Faith made a silent vow. No matter what happened, she’d do whatever it took to put the Mayor away and keep Tara safe. “The Mayor. I ain’t sure he’s even human. He’s working with a vamp named Trick. I saw ‘em together.” Despite that vow to Tara, speaking out against the Mayor was harder than she’d expected.

Giles’ FBI friend nodded. “You’re Faith. The other Slayer.”

The other, not-as-good Slayer. His meaning was clear. Faith nodded right back. “Yeah.”

“Some might say you were a willing part of any conspiracy. If there _is_ a conspiracy.” Crossing his arms over a truly impressive chest, the agent asked, “Did you know about the alleged vampire connection when you left the Council?”

“What?” Faith’s shocked response coincided with Giles’ less restrained, “Are you a bloody fool?”

A tiny smirk lightened the agent’s intense expression. “I have been asked that before. Thanks for being more polite than most.” Then he refocused. “Rupert, you and your team are asking me to take a lot on faith. I’m fine with that. A judge won’t be. Questions about Ms. Lehane’s motives and allegiances will be the tip of the iceberg. I can’t request search warrants and arrest records unless I have concrete proof that the Mayor of Sunnydale was part of the kidnapping. I can only document the rest: the alleged alliance with vampires and demons. That’s for you and the Council to deal with. Except, Rupert, you aren’t actually part of the Council anymore and you got me and a whole lot of Bureau personnel out here under the pretense of an anonymous tip. I’m standing on a very thin branch at the moment.”

Faith’s head snapped around and she stared at Giles. He wasn’t rattled at the question. Voice as cool and clipped as any Dominant, he met the agent’s glare with one of his own. “Did the tip provide inaccurate information? Was there not a kidnapping in progress? Two men suspected of murder in Kansas?”

The agent didn’t respond. Faith was willing to bet he wanted to, though. He and Giles were inches apart, and neither gave ground. “Ms. Lehane, whatever ruse my old friend used to get me here aside, I am very interested in what you have to say. Suspected murderers and kidnappers are important. Small-town mayors in league with vampires and a disgraced Slayer make or break careers. Give me something I can use or we’re all going down together.”

He paused, and Faith knew the rest was up to her. Giles had bargained on friendship to get this man to help them. It was time to do her part. “You want the Mayor, I can give him to you. Long story, though, and I ain’t got all the details.”

“I only need enough for probable cause.” The agent waved over one of his “men”, an athletic blonde woman with her hair pulled back in a tight braid. “This is Special Agent Briggs.” The introduction was brief. “Take notes, Briggs. I don’t want to get this wrong. I’ve got eyes on the Director’s chair one day. If you miss a period, I’ll end up a bomb technician in Anchorage.”

“At least there aren’t a lot of bomb threats there.” With a sunny smile, Briggs took out a notebook and pen. “But I’ll be sure to watch my punctuation anyway, sir.”

Too focused to be amused, Faith took a few steps to her left and slumped against the wall. She was tired. And ashamed of her part in this whole mess. Ignoring a well-buried need to lie about how much she’d fucked up, Faith began talking.

***

Agent Briggs handed Faith a bottled water. They’d abandoned the warehouse hours ago for the comforts of a room at the Sunnydale Motor Inn. Not the same room Faith had slept in the night before but the décor was the same. Briggs returned to her perch on the end of the bed, leaving Faith the rickety desk chair. “Tell me again what happened at the ritual.”

Crumpling the bottle out of sheer frustration, Faith snapped, “Weren’t you fucking listening the other fifty times I told ya’?”

Briggs didn’t respond. Faith had found that Agent Briggs had rock solid emotional control. She never got angry. Never sounded frustrated. She hadn’t been shocked by anything Faith had revealed. “I promise I listened. I just have a few more questions.”

Questions sucked. Tossing the now-cracked and empty bottle into the trash, Faith stood and paced restlessly in front of the window. It was covered; Faith didn’t care. It represented freedom. “The Mayor took me to the storage room. The one with the tunnel.” She continued to talk and pace with only half her attention. She really _had_ been over this dozens of times since rescuing Tara. “The Mayor had some circle or pentagram on the floor and he said some kind of spell.”

The words were a backdrop to Faith’s mental chatter. _T? You out there? Come on. At least let me know you’re OK._

“Thought for a second the whole fucking building was comin’ down around us.” Like all of Faith’s hopes and dreams. Tara wasn’t answering. She hadn’t answered since Faith had picked up Zajicek in the club. The link was still there. Faith saw it, but…Damned if it didn’t look smaller somehow. Dark, too. Like some light switch in her head had gotten turned off.

The darkness turned Faith’s pacing frantic. She _had_ to see Tara. Had to talk to her.

“What was it the Mayor said after the vampire tried to kill him? You weren’t very clear on that part,” Briggs said. Why wouldn’t the agent shut up and go away? Faith had only agreed to tell her story once. She hadn’t agreed to do it a million times. “Faith?” Briggs pushed when Faith didn’t say anything.

Spinning away from the covered window, Faith snapped, “I don’t fucking know!” She’d been freaked after seeing the Mayor glue himself back together. “He was gonna take me and Trick out for ice cream.”

“Ice cream sounds good. I’m starving.” Briggs yawned. “And tired. Look, I know you’re coming out of your skin. I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me and not home with your Domme. This is important, though. Hang with me a little longer.”

Home with her Domme. She didn’t have a home; she might not even have a Domme anymore. Faith gave up on pacing and slumped onto the desk chair. “He was giddy. Kinda like Willow when Buffy takes her to the Pump for a mocha.”

_The Mayor’s smile lit up the storage room. Faith barely paid attention. Instead, she split her attention between the pile of ashes on the floor and the Mayor’s head. There wasn’t a mark on him._

_“It seems so. What’s next?” Trick brushed at the sleeves of his shiny suit._

_He wasn’t really looking at the Mayor, but Faith was._ _She kept seeing the sword slice through the Mayor’s face. It had to be a dream. No one…_

_The Mayor interrupted her frantic thoughts. He waved a list around._

“He said he had shit to do.” Faith hadn’t remembered that before. Her voice rose in excitement. “There was a list, and he had to do whatever was on it in a hundred days.”

Briggs scribbled in her notebook. “That must be the Ascension Councilman Giles told SSA Morton about.” Faith nodded her agreement, and Briggs smiled. “See? The one millionth time is the charm.”

“What does it mean, though? A hundred days to do what?” Faith slammed her hands on the crappy particleboard desk. The blow sheared off a hunk at one corner.

“That’s what SSA Morton is finding out.” Faith remembered Morton, Giles’ friend, had said something about going to the Summers’ home to question Giles, Buffy, and Xander about the Mayor. Morton needed the “evidence” they had that the Mayor was playing with the Bad Guys. “Almost finished. I want to go back to the kidnapping.”

“No!” Faith was done being nice. She’d told them everything she knew over and over and over again. “You got other questions, look at all that shit you scribbled in your notebook. It ain’t like the story’s gonna change. I’m not lyin’ about any of this!” Briggs’ unruffled expression drew a frustrated scream from Faith.

She hit the desk again. And again. By the time she had herself under control, the desk lay in pieces on the floor.

Briggs hadn’t moved an inch. She was still waiting.

On the edge of a complete meltdown, Faith snarled, “What the fuck do you want to know?”

“You said the Mayor threatened Tara.” The pages of the notebook rustled as Brook hunted through her notes. “Understandable if he thought she was going to be a problem for whatever he’s planning. Why hadn’t you told Tara about the ritual? About the vampires? Warned her about the possible danger?”

“We didn’t do much talking.” It was the same explanation Faith had given the Mayor.

Briggs cocked her head. “You’re not telling me everything,” she said, proving she was far more perceptive than the Mayor.

No shit. Faith hunched her shoulders defensively.

“Look, I want to help you, but I can’t do that unless you’re honest with me.” Briggs wasn’t nice and friendly anymore. Her voice was hard as she continued. “We both know the evidence Councilman Giles has on the Mayor is thin at best. From the ‘anonymous tip’ and the way he never really answered about how he found some of his information, I’m betting his sources weren’t entirely legal. That means we have to have everything tied down. If I’m asking these questions, so will a defense attorney or a federal judge. The Council might want to know as well since _Councilman_ Giles left the Council. None of you are even authorized to be working this case.”

Faith was across the room in two strides. “Judge? It ain’t gonna matter. The Mayor’s a fuckin’ demon or something. You think me and Buffy are putting him in jail? If you’d stop wasting time, the Scoobies might find a way to kill him.”

Instead of backing down, Briggs stood up and moved into Faith’s personal space. “I wasn’t talking about the Mayor. Remember the kidnappers? Your Dominant’s family? The men who stole your Domme off the street, stuffed her in a crate, and tortured her?”

Briggs’ intensity drove Faith back a step. “I…I wasn’t…” She hadn’t been thinking about Tara. Hadn’t that been the problem all along? Her next step sent Faith stumbling over the remains of the desk. She missed the chair and landed flat on her ass.

“This whole thing has to be hard.” Briggs walked over and held out a hand to Faith. “You’re newly bonded. I can’t even imagine what that’s like at your age. It was hard enough when Manuel dropped into my head. We were both eight, and I didn’t speak a word of Spanish.” She dragged Faith to her feet and steered her into the desk chair. “Manuel didn’t speak English. It was crazy. All emotions and words I didn’t understand. But we had time to figure things out. He wasn’t right there with me the way Tara was with you. With all those new-bond emotions flooding you, I’m sure talking with Tara wouldn’t have been a priority.”

Exactly. “That’s what I told the Mayor when he wanted to know why I hadn’t spilled the beans,” Faith muttered.

“Still, you were working for a guy who’d gotten chopped in half with a sword and lived to tell the tale.” Briggs returned to the bed. “Tara was with the Council. You’d know better than anyone what their process is for reporting any demon activity or conspiracy. Even if you were afraid the rest of the Council would think you were in league with the Mayor, Tara would know the truth. She’d get it straight from your mind.”

Briggs’s gaze drilled into Faith, and she shifted in discomfort. Tara would have gotten it from Faith’s mind – if the bond wasn’t closed because Faith had told Tara she didn’t want her or the bond.

“Except…” Briggs obviously didn’t know when to shut up. “I don’t think you and Tara were talking on _any_ level. It wasn’t so clear last night when I met you. You were wound up; I saw you watching one of the ambulances outside the warehouse. It made sense that you were working with Councilman Giles instead of comforting your Domme. Duty trumps bonds in our kind of lifestyle. After hours in this room together, I’ve changed my mind. You’re still jittery.” She was like Willow, only worse. She wasn’t giddy and talking about worthless crap. Briggs was smart, and she had Faith all figured out. “You can’t tell if you’re Domme’s alright. You need to go to her so bad, it’s eating you alive.”

She didn’t give Faith a chance to respond. Not that Faith would have. How could she admit her relationship is a fucked up mess all because of her own actions? “You’re lucky the Mayor didn’t figure that out, Faith. If he had, he might have come after you, too. With you dead and Ms. Maclay unaware of what you’d learned, he’d have nothing standing in his way.”

“Didn’t happen that way, did it?” Faith got out of the chair again. Her legs wobbled for a second before stabilizing. “T’s at…at Trish’s,” she couldn’t call it home. No way would any of Tara’s friends let in the door now. “The doc took care of her last night. I’m here yackin’ with you. Giles and your boss are researchin’ the Mayor. It’s all good.” Faith knew things were far from good. She had no idea how Tara was doing. The link was closed, and she’d been locked up with the FBI since last night. To top it off, there was no way the Mayor was going down without a big fight.

Briggs proved once again that she wasn’t stupid. She raised an eyebrow in the universal sign of Dominants. “Really?”

“You got any more questions? ‘Cause I got things to do.” It was an exaggeration. Faith had exactly _one_ thing to do: see Tara. Eyeing the door, Faith slid a couple feet in that direction.

“Not right now. I might…” Faith ignored the rest of Brigg’s comment.

No more questions meant she was free to go – and go Faith did. The door slammed against the wall as she wrenched it open and took off. She heard Briggs call her name but didn’t stop. She’d ignored the pull too long. She _had_ to find out about Tara.

A car started up as Faith sprinted through the parking lot and out to the street. Dodging cars and people, Faith maintained her pace. She made no attempt to hide in the shadows or find out-of-the-way alleys. Faith took the most direct route straight to Trish’s door.

She _was_ aware of her surroundings enough to notice the car from the hotel pull up to the curb a few houses down the block. White shirts and ties. Dark, unmarked sedan. No way would the Council drive something so cheap as a Crown Vic. The Mayor hired right out of the prison yard. No shirts and ties for prison trash. They had to be FBI. A similar car sat right across the street from Trish’s house.

The bell buzzed inside when Faith jabbed the button. Tara was inside. Even with the link blocked, Faith felt the electric tingle along her skin. Impatient, Faith stabbed the button a second time. “Come on. Open the fucking door. I know you’re there,” she murmured.

Finally, she heard someone moving inside seconds before the door opened. Trish stood in the doorway, expression unfriendly. “Tara doesn’t want to see you.”


	63. Chapter 63

Trish’s brand of Dominance didn’t faze Faith at all. She’d stared down demons and vampires on a daily basis. “Think I wanna hear that from T.” Picking Trish up and moving her out of the way didn’t even require Slayer strength. “She wants me to go, I’m out. If not, guess you need to call the cops.”

There were other roadblocks to Faith’s progress. Maxie shot off the couch and marched straight into Faith’s path. “Get out!” Maxie should have been the Dominant. Her glare would have stopped a Fyarl demon in its tracks. Hands clenched, muscles taut, she challenged Faith. “Haven’t you done enough?” One body became two as Trish joined Maxie in the living room. Side by side, they had matching glowers and refused to let Faith pass. “ _You’re_ the reason this happened. If you hadn’t repudiated Tara at your _claiming_ party, she wouldn’t have been out there alone yesterday. Don’t you care about her at all?”

Maxie was so angry she probably wasn’t interested in Faith’s answer. Yet the answer swirled through Faith’s mind anyway. Faith did care about Tara. She cared a lot. She cared so much that Faith was willing, only in her mind and in the bond, to label the emotion (just maybe) as “love.” She admitted none of that to Maxie or Trish. They didn’t need to hear it; it was absolutely none of their business.

Not that it mattered. Maxie wasn’t finished blasting Faith. “I told Tara you weren’t good enough for her. I saw your Council file. You’re pathetic! How can you even be a submissive? All you do is break the rules and get into trouble. Tara’s better off without you! If you stayed with her, she’d spend all of her time over a spanking bench taking the punishment _you_ earned! Do what you told Tara and repudiate the bond! Go to the Bond Registration Office and cut her loose now, before you do even more damage! Since you showed up, she hasn’t been happy. She’s not _Tara_ anymore. Once you’re out of her life, she’ll have a chance to be happy again!”

Maxie’s words punched Faith in the gut. They weren’t a surprise. Faith knew everything Maxie had hurled at her was true. She knew _all_ of it, and the knowledge was acid, burning through her veins. The facts didn’t matter right now, though. Emotions Faith couldn’t name and sure as Hell didn’t understand drove her forward. She dodged Tara’s friends, batting away Maxie’s clutching hands. She had to see Tara. She had to. Panic stole her breath and ramped up her heartbeat.

Faith heard Trish pick up the phone as she finally reached Tara’s bedroom. Heard Trish’s voice, tight with urgency, announce to someone (probably the emergency dispatcher) that Faith was in the house. Despite that, Faith gripped the doorknob and gently twisted it open. Experience said Tara was under the influence of some really good drugs at the moment. Faith didn’t want to startle her or wake her if she was sleeping. All Faith wanted to do was see her. Reassure herself that Tara was fine.

As usual, Faith’s internal critic sneered. Fine? In case Faith had missed it, Tara wasn’t _fine_. She’d been kidnapped and brutalized. All because Faith had stabbed Tara in the heart and left her alone and unprotected like Maxie had screamed.

Her footsteps faltered. Stopped. Faith stood right inside the doorway and stared at Tara’s form where it huddled on the bed.

Tara was asleep. Or unconscious. Faith couldn’t tell the difference. She took one step forward, pulled toward Tara by a need to hold her. To stroke her face. To apologize and promise she’d never let anyone hurt Tara again.

Especially herself.

A warring need yanked Faith to a stop after that single stride. Tara was naked under a light sheet. The sheet had inched down, and puffy red welts and open cuts marred the pale perfection of Tara’s shoulder. Faith might as well have swung the whip. She’d caused those.

Maxie was right. If Faith hadn’t played the fool at the club, she and Tara would have been curled together in this bed yesterday morning. _Faith_ would have been at Tara’s side as they grabbed breakfast at their doughnut shop. Papa Maclay and Junior wouldn’t have stood a chance against Faith. Against Faith and Tara. Together.

_Faith_ deserved the welts and cuts on Tara’s back, not Tara. _She_ deserved the scars that would be forever left behind. _She_ deserved that and so much more for what she’d done to Tara. Tara had done nothing except support and love Faith right from the beginning. Tiny sandwiches, quiet afternoons on the Council grounds, Slayer history lessons, and careful, controlled passion. No matter what was happening around them, Tara had always been there for Faith. Waiting patiently for her to feel the bond and let Tara inside.

“I’m ready,” Faith whispered. “I’m finally ready, Tara.” Ready too late. Faith mentally pressed against the bond as she crept across the room to Tara’s bedside. Dropping to her knees, she reached for the hand that half-nestled under Tara’s pillow and linked their fingers.

The contact was like addictive. Faith had to have more. Her free hand tucked the lank strands of Tara’s hair away from her face and then traced a single finger in a butterfly-light touch over Tara’s cheek. The skin was so soft. Delicate. The stroking moved. Faith slid the sheet all the way to Tara’s waist.

No longer hidden, the damage from the whip nearly sent Faith running for the nearest trashcan. Dozens of welts and cuts stacked haphazardly from Tara’s shoulders to the beginning swell of her ass. Tara’s bastard of a father hadn’t even cared enough to avoid the danger zones near Tara’s kidneys and spine.

Anger swelled and then popped like an overfilled balloon. Anger was the wrong emotion. Something new rose, filling the empty space in Faith’s chest. It rose and rose until Faith gasped – and a keening sound escaped. The wail was high. Thin. Hopeless. The way Faith was hopeless.

Everyone said Tara would be fine. The marks would heal. Faith knew everyone lied. Some of the marks might heal. The rest would add to the scars marring Tara’s lower back. Scars Faith had caused. And Tara would never forgive Faith for those scars. For taking her love and Dominance and spitting on them. Tara had already walked away from Faith once tonight. If she knew Faith was here looking at her, seeing her this vulnerable…

Tara would not be pleased. She’d look at Faith with that closed-off, dismissive expression she’d worn outside the warehouse. An expression Faith never wanted to see again. How could she get Tara to forgive her?

Apologizing was out. Tara didn’t want to talk to Faith (not that Faith blamed her). Faith didn’t have money. She hadn’t worked for the Mayor long enough to really draw a salary and buying Tara something with his money didn’t feel right, anyway. Swiping her free hand across her face, Faith wiped at tears she hadn’t realized she’d been shedding. She didn’t know how to fix what she’d done. Or if “fixing” was even possible.

Slayer hearing picked up the sound of multiple cars pulling into the driveway. Whoever Trish had called had arrived. Faith needed to leave. Now. Standing reluctantly, she bent and pressed a soft kiss to Tara’s shoulder before very, very gently pulling the sheet over Tara. “I’ll be back,” she promised, hoping Tara would relent and be willing to see her then.

Someone knocked on the front door.

Faith was out of time. She didn’t return to the living room. Instead, she opened the bedroom window and popped out the screen. One hop put her safely outside. Faith carefully closed the window and replaced the screen. Unless Trish’s friends were smart enough to notice the lock was open and the screen only sat in the window frame, they’d think she disappeared into thin air.

In case Trish’s friends _were_ smart, Faith took extra precautions. She scaled the fence into the neighbor’s back yard. It was Monday; there was a good chance no one was home to see her jog across the grass and then leap the fence into another yard. She didn’t care one way or the other. Faith hopscotched her way to the next block over before walking casually down the sidewalk.

Her casual appearance was all an act. Faith’s mind ran in tight, desperate circles. She had to make Tara understand. To at least give her a chance to apologize and explain. To show Tara that she wanted to keep Tara’s cuff, wanted to go back and… and _look_ at the collars in the display window.

What could she do? Flowers? Faith dismissed that idea immediately. Flowers were stupid. Jewelry was out of the question since Faith had no money. Not that Tara seemed to be a trinket type. A spell book? She’d never know what to get – and those were pricey, too. Willow had bitched about that all the time.

Faith needed something bigger to convince Tara to give her a second chance. Something a lot bigger. A little of her gloom lifted as the inkling of an idea came to life.

It was bold – even for Faith. Maybe just bold enough to do the trick. Slowing her pace, Faith tamped down a need to run. Not now. She couldn’t risk drawing attention to herself. Today, she had to _look_ like a college kid taking a walk. She wandered through a few parks. A cemetery. Stopped to gawk in the windows of a bookstore and the sporting goods store.

The display windows proved a good way to scan the street for a tail. It was also boring as Hell. Staring at a display of hockey gear (who played hockey in California?), Faith remembered meandering through Sunnydale, peering in windows with Tara. She hadn’t been bored then. It had been different somehow.

Her imagination conjured up an image of Tara.

_“I’m not a big sports fan.” Tara grinned a little. “The only reason I watch football is so I can watch you munch on a cafeteria-worth of food.”_

Faith knew Tara wasn’t there, yet she still leaned a shoulder against the glass and smirked. For only a moment before reality crashed back in. Reality was a bitch. Faith shoved away from the window and took off again. She was done wasting time pretending to shop. There wasn’t anyone following her. No one she’d noticed, anyway. And no one would ever expect her to try something like this.

Adding speed didn’t mean Faith left caution behind. She headed for Weatherly Park and not her final destination. The shaded pathway around the small pond provided her last opportunity to work through all the scenarios of her plan. Plan. Faith snorted. Big word for breaking into the Mayor’s office and stealing the books she’d already stolen from Skyler.

There was only one security guard on duty this time of day. The Mayor and his damned schedules made Faith an expert on City Hall’s weak spots. As long as she didn’t go in the front door, the Mayor would be the only threat. _He_ was the reason Faith needed a strategy. Across the street from City Hall, she stopped at a pay phone.

“City of Sunnydale. Mayor Wilkins’ office. How may I help you?” Joan answered Faith’s call.

“Don’t know if ya’ can,” Faith responded with as much humor as she could. “The Boss in? It’s Faith.”

“Faith!” Joan sounded happy to hear from her. “How are you? What’s your Domme like? The Mayor was telling us all about her, about how she’s a powerful witch for the Council. You’re coming back to work, aren’t you? The Mayor’s been in a bad mood since you left.”

Not a surprise there. Faith hadn’t done what the Mayor expected, _and_ she’d brought Tara in to blow on the Mayor’s house of straw. “Yeah, I was hopin’ to talk to him about that. He came by the Bond Office after T claimed me.” Faith smiled at the memory, tracing Tara’s mark on her cuff. “He got time to see me?”

Joan sighed. “No. He’s at a ribbon cutting for a new playground near the zoo.” Faith heard pages rustling. “And then he’s giving a speech to the Rotary Club. I don’t think he’ll be back for hours. He mumbled something about being gone for a long time when he left this morning.”

Faith did a happy dance in the phone booth – and then tried to sound _un_ happy at Joan’s news. “Damn. Guess I gotta leave a message. Can you let him know I called?”

Of course, Joan agreed. “Is there a number he can use to reach you, Faith?”

“Pretty sure he knows where I am,” Faith muttered. “I’ll try again later maybe.” She hung up and trotted across the street. The window to her old office would be the perfect way inside. The little garden was empty and it was completely shielded from the surrounding sidewalk and streets thanks to the bushes and trees.

One of those trees provided a starting point for her climb. After much grunting, swearing, and sweating in the heavy hoodie, Faith balanced precariously on one of the top-most limbs. It was a skinny fucking branch. The drop probably wouldn’t kill a Slayer, but Faith didn’t want to test that theory. She took one last deep breath and jumped…

_Now_ she balanced on a two-inch-wide window ledge, the fingers of both hands desperately grasping the pretty stone border of that same window. She could see into her old office. Someone had “redecorated”. The usually neat filing cabinets were on their sides. Papers littered the floor. And all the drawers in her desk gaped open. Apparently, the Mayor had taken out his frustration on her furniture.

A crack appeared in Faith’s plan. She needed to break the window…but couldn’t risk removing the sweatshirt while on her perch. What were a few bruises and cuts with her bond on the line? She tucked her right hand inside the sleeve for protection anyway before punching a hole in the window. It was harder than she’d imagined. Slayer strength didn’t work so well without proper leverage. The window _did_ finally break, and Faith jabbed at the glass until there was room above the jagged pieces to leap into the office.

Alert for any sound, Faith crept to the door and inched it open. The Mayor’s office was empty. She hurried to the wet bar. Shoving bottles out of the way, she hunted for the switch plate to the hidden vault. It wasn’t hard to find. Neither were the books. The backpack Faith had used to carry the books was there, too. Like the Mayor wanted someone to pack the heavy tomes up.

Ready to run, Faith hesitated before tossing the rondel dagger she’d admired into the backpack. Then she closed up the vault, put the bottles back on the shelf, and left the office the way she’d found it.

The Mayor was going to be _pissed_. And maybe, just maybe, Tara would be impressed.


	64. Chapter 64

Faith fairly flew across town. The books bounced against her shoulder, the weight providing hope. Hope that Faith could restore Tara’s trust in her. She barely noticed the distance between City Hall and Trish’s house. Her only focus was a pair of blue eyes and a tiny, shy smile. A smile she might have earned with the books in her backpack. Fueled by that hope, she hurdled backyard fences like they were the size of toothpicks and would have earned top honors on any timed Council run as she retraced her path to Trish’s.

Who cared about the threat of surveillance teams? Not Faith. She was moving so fast they might not be able to see her, except as a blur.

Panting, Faith slid to a halt outside Tara’s bedroom window. The screen was fastened into the frame. Her secret had been discovered. The rondel dagger she’d taken from the Mayor cut through the mesh quickly and easily. The window was easy, too. Whoever had replaced the screen hadn’t bothered to lock the window. Faith tossed the bag into the room first and then clambered in behind it.

Tara was awake. Curled on her side, she watched Faith’s progress into the house. Her cool regard washed over Faith. The hairs on her arms sprang up in response. Her skin tingled with a wild electric buzz Stronger than anything Faith had felt before. Under that watchful gaze, Faith felt unaccountably shy. She dropped her eyes and couldn’t continue her lightning-fast pace. The six steps from window to bed spanned a chasm. After three lifetimes of tiny steps, Faith hesitantly dropped to her knees. “Are you feelin’ OK?” Dragging her eyes up for an instant, she peered worriedly at Tara. “The doc…he took care of you?”

Faith stared at the carpet again. That was A stupid question. Of course Timmins had treated Tara. He was a doctor. “I got ya’ something,” she said. “I…you know…” The words tumbled out, crashing into each other as Faith tried to apologize and present her “gift” at the same time. “I didn’t mean…It’s my fault…the marks…” Needing to do something more than stammer, she thrust her precious backpack at the bed. “Here.”

The bag dangled between Faith and Tara. Neither of them moved for several seconds. They might have stayed that way, too, if an unknown voice hadn’t interrupted the frozen scene. “You should probably save that for later. Or put it on the bed. Tara can’t sit up right now, and I doubt she can hold the bag. It looks pretty heavy.”

Spinning, Faith dropped the bag and took a belatedly defensive posture. How had she missed the fact that there was someone in the room with Tara?

Two hands held up in the universal sign for “please don’t kick my ass” met her move. “Sorry. I thought you knew I was here. I’m Becky, from LA?” The short, skinny girl cleared her throat. “My Watcher and I came up when Mr. Giles called. I can go get her. My Watcher, I mean. She’s in the other room.”

A Slayer. A young one. Faith didn’t relax her posture. _That’s_ why she’d been buzzing so badly when she climbed into the house. Tara hadn’t been lighting up the bond. This damned _kid_ had pinged her senses. The Council must have sent Becky after Faith.

“Seriously, I’m not here to hurt you.” Faith would have laughed if the memory of losing to Buffy in every single fight hadn’t suddenly replayed in her mind. “Have you talked with him? With Mr. Giles. There’s a lot going on with the Council.” Becky’s eyes pleaded with Faith to trust her. “I _swear_ I’m only here to protect your Domme.”

No way did Faith believe that. Fucking Trish had called the Council when Faith busted into the house earlier. Becky the Bitch was here to haul her to Wes. Faith was a dangerous criminal after all.

A light touch on her hip froze Faith in place. “Stop it, Faith.” Tara’s normally serene voice was sharp with impatience.

The tone cut Faith worse than any dagger. She’d grown used to Tara’s support and gentle (yet still implacable) commands. This was different. Everyone else in Faith’s life had sounded the way Tara sounded now. Tired of Faith’s actions. Tired of _Faith_. Slumping, she whispered, “Sorry.”

Tara didn’t murmur her forgiveness, and Faith’s shoulders hunched further.

***

Tara regretted her command immediately. Poor Faith appeared miserable, and it had been clear from her broken apology when she’d entered the room that she already blamed herself for Tara’s kidnapping. That wasn’t the case; at least, not entirely. Janna had explained part of what Faith had done to save Tara on the drive to Trish’s last night.

Faith hadn’t caused the kidnapping. She wasn’t responsible for what Tara’s father had done in the warehouse. Faith’s only fault had been her misguided attempt to protect Tara from the Mayor at the club. As faults went, it was well intentioned. Yet her actions spoke volumes on Faith’s lack of trust in Tara. Closing her eyes, Tara struggled to balance her emotions. Faith was _here_! She’d come back. If every part of her body hadn’t hurt, Tara might have thrown herself into Faith’s arms and sobbed. It was a good thing Tara was stuck in bed. Tara couldn’t reach out to Faith. Knowing the truth about Faith’s actions at the club didn’t really change anything.

The bond was toxic. Faith didn’t want Tara’s collar. Tara had to keep that in mind so that when Faith got over her guilt and repudiated the bond, she would be ready. The reminder didn’t prevent Tara from mumbling, “It’s OK, sweetie.” Tara opened her eyes and shifted gingerly in the bed. “Just don’t growl at Becky. She’s been the perfect protector.” When Faith flinched, Tara realized her comment might have sounded accusatory. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Sit down and show me what you brought.” Patting the bed, Tara changed the subject. Becky was on her own for now.

Instead of sitting, though, Faith dropped to her knees again. One at a time, she pulled large, heavy books from her backpack and placed them on the bed next to Tara. From her expression, it was clear she was waiting for something.

With careful movements, Tara reached for the nearest book. She wasn’t careful enough. Pain snuck through the drug-induced haze. Her breath stuttered.

“T!” Faith leaned forward, eyes wide and anguished. Gentle hands cupped Tara’s arms and guided her back into position. “Don’t you fuckin’ move again! Are you crazy?” She hovered. Fluttered, actually, hands leaving Tara’s arms only to return…and then leave…and then return.

It was funny – and the most annoying thing, all at the same time. Tara gritted her teeth and waited several minutes until Faith flopped back onto her knees. “Why don’t _you_ open the book?” she said tightly.

Still watching Tara closely, Faith opened the book Tara had attempted to touch. Her position on the bed made it hard for Tara to read the tiny, handwritten script.

“Do…do you like it?” Faith was like a puppy, eyes begging for approval and a pat on the head.

The expression pulled at Tara. She was Faith’s Dominant; Faith should never be afraid Tara would turn away from her or rebuff her. Except, Tara _had_ turned away last night outside the warehouse. And, from the little Faith had admitted about her past, _everyone_ in her life had told her she wasn’t worth their time. Faith needed to know “everyone” had been wrong. “It’s perfect, my Faith.” The possessive slipped out, and Tara never noticed.

Faith did. Tara watched Faith’s eyes brighten and a bashful grin sneak out. “Thought you’d like ‘em. The Mayor’s gonna flip when he finds out they’re gone.”

“Wh-why would he…” Ignoring the scream of each individual whip mark (and Faith’s new, disapproving scowl), Tara reached for one of the books. She didn’t open this one. She didn’t need to. In faded, glittering gold letters, Tara read the title: _Books of Ascension, Volume III_. “Oh Goddess.” Another move, this one for the bedside phone, tore an agonized gasp from Tara.

“I told you not to move!” Faith stood up and loomed over the bed. “What do I gotta do to keep you layin’ down? Have to be cuffs in here somewhere.”

The comment drew a giggle from Becky. “You want to cuff your Domme to the bed? Before or after she puts you over her knee?” Still laughing, she walked toward the door. “I’ll be in the living room. If you yell ‘red’, Tara, I’ll be back with reinforcements.”

When they were alone, the silence in the room was stifling. Tara kept her gaze on the books spread out next to her, and Faith pretended to be a statue.

“Bet you’re hurtin’ pretty bad,” Faith finally mumbled. “Burns and kinda itches all the time. Then if you move, _wham!_ That’s when you wish you’d been smart and not fought so hard…” The words broke off, and the Faith Statue became even more stone-like. “I can get ya’ more of whatever the doc gave you. And ice always helps.”

Tara didn’t care about her back. Thanks to Faith’s inadvertent admission, she could clearly imagine a tiny version of Faith chained and bleeding, marked by some nameless Dominant’s whip. “Was that what happened to you? Did…did you s-someone punish,” she wouldn’t force Faith to say _who_ had punished her, “with a whip?” If so, Tara would strategically forget her belief in non-violence long enough to make that person pay.

Faith shifted and didn’t answer the question.

The refusal snapped Tara out of her daydream. Fantasy, actually. One where Faith cared enough to talk openly about her past. Where Faith understood Tara’s need to protect and love her. So be it. With a soundless sigh, Tara gave up trying to convince Faith to give in to their soulbond and trust her. How many times would it take before Tara managed to stamp out the last embers of hope burning in her heart? Silence reigned for several more minutes.

“Come on, T. You wanted something. Let me get it for you.” Faith crouched next to the bed. She appeared so young. Young and worried. Her eyes examined Tara relentlessly.

“Sweetie, I just needed the phone.” The phone! “Goddess, I’m an idiot. Faith, hand me the phone. The books you brought… Mr. Giles needs to see them.”

Was that a blush coloring Faith’s cheeks? “Don’t need the phone, Tara.” The use of Tara’s full blew on that ember of hope in Tara’s heart until it glowed. “You got at least one Slayer and a Watcher here.” Faith grinned. “The kid said her Watcher was out front. Baby Slayers don’t go nowhere without a Watcher. Let me get ‘em for you. Stay put and I’ll be right back.”

Awash in feelings she wanted to ignore, Tara nodded her assent. Faith rose immediately and strode from the room. As soon as she was gone, a little of the thrall faded. Goddess, she had to get control of herself and her stupid heart. She and Faith were _over_. Faith’s actions today were nothing more than guilt pushing Faith into a role she’d never wanted. As the Dominant, it was Tara’s responsibility to stay strong and give Faith what she needed: her freedom. Guilt was a bad foundation for a life together.

Desire warred with painful logic. Faith had looked so _right_ on her knees, staring at Tara with open adoration. What if those emotions were real? What if Faith _did_ want their bond? What if she’d been hiding her true emotions all along?

Faith had risked her life to bring Tara the Mayor’s books. If he’d returned while Faith was stealing them…

Ignoring Faith’s previously-growled edicts, Tara stroked the cover of the nearest book. Faith had gotten the books for her. A hint of warmth and light flared around the edges of the bond. Tara didn’t extinguish it; nor did she encourage it. She merely closed her eyes and let the new glow soak into her soul until Faith returned.

The door sprang open mere seconds later. A tall, thin man and an equally tall (much rounder) woman followed hard on Faith’s heels. They rushed for the bed.

Faster than Tara could blink, Faith was at the edge of the bed. “Give her some room.” Her voice was low and threatening. “Or I’m gonna chuck the books out the window.” From the stiff posture and the tight line of Faith’s jaw, she was serious.

The glow around the link brightened a hair at Faith’s blatant protectiveness.

Becky slipped into the room behind the suddenly very still Watchers. “Would you, please? No matter how much Marlee pretends to love research, I’m the one stuck with the books. And I _hate_ reading all that old crap.”

The female Watcher’s eyes widened and red patches appeared on her cheeks. Tara bit her lip to hide a grin. If the woman had been Giles, she would have been polishing her glasses. “Rebecca Slaughter, that is _not_ true,” she responded in an appalled tone.

It was funny. A familiar and yet completely different replay of the research parties Tara had attended at the House and at the Summers’ home. Faith didn’t play her expected part, however. Still stationed between the Watchers and Tara’s comfortable nest of pillows, Faith reached back and picked up a book. “These books are important to the Mayor. Once he figures out I took brought em’ to T… We got lucky last night. The Mayor ain’t gonna be dumb enough to trust an amateur like Papa Maclay again. He’ll send Trick the best he’s got to keep T from learnin’ all his secrets.”

The mention of her father was unexpected, and Tara gasped. Jerked enough to catch Faith’s attention.

Faith’s cold expression warmed immediately. “Whatever he sends has to go through me, T. And he don’t have anyone as good.” The brash boast was so typical of Faith. Typical and unexpectedly erotic. Heat slid along Tara’s nerves – and Faith flushed immediately. She’d felt Tara’s reaction, too. “I’ve got mad skills.” _This_ boast was a husky purr.

The room faded away. Tara forgot all about the fiery itch on her back. The memory of Faith propositioning the man in the bar grew blurry. Faith was _right here,_ and she was clearly on the same wavelength with Tara.

Unfortunately, they had an audience. The man cleared his throat and inched closer to the bed. Or more likely the books.

“You’re a killjoy, Scott.” Marlee smacked him on the shoulder. “But you’re a killjoy with a point.” She met Tara’s eyes. “Please have your Slayer stand down, Ms. Maclay. We aren’t here to hurt either one of you. I’m an old friend of Rupert’s. One of many. When he called to ask for my help, I came as soon as I could. Becky, Scott, and Scott’s Slayer Rhonda are here to make sure nothing happens to you or Faith.” Her eyes dropped to the books. “And we’d absolutely _love_ to get the first glimpse of those. To find the Mayor’s secrets so we can stop whatever he has planned.”

“I got ‘em for T,” Faith protested. Her willingness to give the books to the research crew apparently forgotten, she anxiously turned to face the Watchers.

Tara watched her closely. What was going through Faith’s mind right now? Tara couldn’t see Faith’s eyes or her expression anymore. All she could see was the play of Faith’s muscles. So very tight. So tight Faith nearly vibrated. The way she shifted her weight. Took a step toward the bed and then moved forward, closer to Marlee and Scott. Faith was on the verge of losing control. Why?

The books that might end the Mayor’s reign of terror had been a gift. For Tara. A gift delivered with Faith on her knees and hesitancy in her voice. Tara’s heart twisted as the full truth sank in. The books had been a very personal apology. Faith hadn’t been trying to get back at the Mayor.

Well, that was probably part of it. Tara recalled the evil grin Faith had worn when she’d commented on the Mayor’s anger when he realized the books were missing. But Faith had risked her life to get those books for Tara alone. Giving them to the Watchers, no matter how much good they might do with them, had Faith spiraling.

That tiny tiny ember of hope Tara had tried to bury sprang to life. It was small. Barely a pinprick of light buried in the dark recesses of Tara’s soul. But it was there. Her hand caressed the nearest book softly as if it was Faith’s skin. “Faith, it’s OK.” Tara waited a heartbeat until Faith stilled and her muscles loosened a fraction. “Why don’t you come keep me company while the Watchers and Becky do all the work?”

Tara was too focused on Faith’s reaction to laugh at Becky’s comical groan. “I got ‘em for you.” When Faith turned her head, Tara sucked in a sharp breath at Faith’s open, vulnerable expression. If she’d had any doubts about the nature of Faith’s gift, they were eclipsed by how very young and desperate Faith appeared.

“I know, my Slayer.” Tara didn’t try to censor the possessive pet name. Faith was _hers._ She’d taken a big step, and she was clearly trying to repair their bond. They’d figure out a solution to their troubled relationship somehow. “And I love the gift; the way you were thinking of me.” Faith’s expression opened more, and Tara thought, if she peered long enough into Faith’s eyes, she might see all the way to the bottom of Faith’s soul. Softening her voice to a tiny thread of sound, she murmured, “I’m tired, though. And I’d rather spend my time with you than read old books.”

Faith smiled at that. Not her usual smirk or the wide display of teeth and dimples. “Really?”

“More than anything,” Tara responded.

Grabbing two books, Faith stuffed them into her backpack. “Grab the rest and get out.” The words appeared directed at Tara. Faith never looked away once Tara had asked Faith to stay with her, though. Tara was absolutely certain Faith’s order was for the three other people sharing the room.

So did the three other people. They sprang into action, warily skirting Faith and piling the remaining books into the backpack and Becky’s arms. In minutes, the bed was empty except for Tara and the door closed with a soft thump.

The sound acted like a signal. Faith bent and removed her boots. Her jean jacket sailed across the room and landed with unerring accuracy on the back of Tara’s desk chair. Faith’s jeans puddled on the floor.

Tara watched it all, unable to glance away. “Faith,” she finally managed. Did Faith not realize she wasn’t ready for more than a nap?

“Shut up.” Faith followed the rude remark with a gentle touch to Tara’s cheek. “You need to sleep, not babble. Stop spendin’ so much time with Red.” To Tara’s surprise, she remained clad in her t-shirt and underwear as she lifted the covers and slid in. Warms hands settled Tara against Faith’s chest. “I’ll keep you safe, T; I promise.”


	65. Chapter 65

Faith dozed as she held Tara gently. She didn’t sleep. Faith didn’t _sleep_ with anyone. Have sex and leave, yes. Sleep, no. Not even when her bed companion was soft and warm and had tunneled into Faith’s mind and wrapped her in safety. Eyes drifting open and then closed on constant repeat, she enjoyed the way the harsh lines of pain on Tara’s face smoothed in sleep. That monster snore she’d heard her first morning at Trish’s house.

If there wasn’t the constant hum of voices and movement from the living room, this might have been a replay of their afternoon at the club. Only this time, Faith was determined to stay the course. No freaking out and ruining the moment if Tara wanted to cuddle the day away.

Unfortunately, life never worked the way Faith wanted. There was a reason Faith never spent more time than absolutely necessary with any of her sexual partners: after about ten minutes, latent claustrophobia set in. Even though Tara was asleep and wasn’t wrapped around Faith (was barely even brushing against her), nervous energy exploded through Faith. The walls closed in until she thought she’d scream from the way they pressed against her chest.

She rolled out of bed and paced back and forth in quick, powerful strides. Faith lost track of time. Panting and completely enervated, she finally ran out of steam. Tara’s desk chair was far more comfortable than the one at the Sunnydale Motor Inn. Less likely to collapse, too. Faith settled into the seat and leaned over the desk. She had to stop being a fucking drama queen. People slept with each other all the time. Some of them even _wanted_ to do it. Actually enjoyed it.

Fueled by determination, Faith straightened. No more cowering away and letting fear drive her away from Tara.

It was a huge step.

Until her gaze fell on a still-snoring Tara and the room shrank again.

Spinning away from the bed, Faith glared at the desk and the haphazard pile of books and papers on the surface. One of the books looked familiar; it piqued Faith’s attention just enough to break her focus. The glare faded as she dragged the book over. _Domination: A Road to Self-Discovery._ The book from the doughnut shop. Faith smiled at the memory of facing off with Tara over this book and a two boxes of doughnuts. Only Tara – and Willow if she wore her cuff on the left – would ever think ruling the world came with written directions.

Still…What secrets did Dominants have? Did they have lessons on how to be an assholes? Had this book taught Tara to put that frosty chill in her eyes? Faith opened the book. Council training had her immediately examine the Table of Contents.

Nothing exciting. Well, there was a chapter on the pleasure of pain. That was probably a favorite for every bastard Dominant Faith had ever met. Of course, her memory insisted Tara might have read that chapter before taking Faith back to the apartment. She _had_ handled that wooden spoon with serious skill.

The rest of the chapters sounded as boring as Wes’ Slayer history books. _Self-Awareness. Setting Limits. Safe Words, Signals, and Triggers._ Faith checked out the other books and papers on the desk in the hope of finding something better. Textbooks and what Faith thought was a book of spells. Everything was in symbols and writing that wasn’t English.

Boring “how tos” on Dominance won out. She flipped through the pages, skimming a paragraph here and there.

_How will you know the right time and method for beginning that first open and honest conversation with your submissive? The first time you meet. “Perfect” times and places are merely mental barriers that **you** create. It is you, not Fate or life or a sudden rainstorm blocking the sun at your planned, romantic picnic that disallows you to communicate with your submissive. It is **you**. _

_A submissive, by the nature of any dynamic, confronts their fears in every interaction they have with you. You are a Dominant. You will push their limits; test them. In failing to face your fears, you fail them. You fail the dynamic. You fail to reciprocate the trust your submissive has placed in you._

Faith traced the words with her fingers. Wow. The author wasn’t pulling any punches. He’d just smacked anyone reading right upside the head. She’d never thought of how the Dominant/submissive dynamic worked. The book was right, though. Sort of. Faith didn’t really trust the people around her but she’d damned well trusted a crapload of Dominants in clubs and seedy motels.

Then she reconsidered. _Had_ she trusted any of them? She’d given them her body for a few short minutes. Nothing more than that. Faith stared at the stark words on the page: _In failing to face your fears, you fail them. You fail the dynamic._ Words for Dominants to live by. What about submissives? Had Faith failed Tara by refusing to face her fear of having Tara inside her mind?

It was a stupid question. Faith knew the answer. Of course she’d failed Tara. She’d taken a shy yet happy Tara and turned her into a sad shadow of the woman she’d been. Faith had failed. Big time. She hadn’t been honest about anything.

That was going to change. Closing the book, she returned to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge to avoid waking Tara. “I’m here to stay, T,” Faith whispered. “Not gonna run anymore.” No matter how bad the urge got, Faith was staying put. “Got a lot to tell ya’. It ain’t…it ain’t a happy story.” Not any happier than Tara’s. Maybe worse. She stretched out and pulled the covers back over both of them. “I’m from Boston.” Tara was asleep. This was the perfect time to practice the whole honesty thing. “Not Boston like most people see when they visit. South Boston.” Tiny, ramshackle houses and shoebox-sized apartments. Voice a husky trickle of sound, Faith talked until there were no words left, only memories and the soft, soothing sound of Tara’s breathing.

***

The bedroom door slid open and Joyce stepped inside. “How is she?” she asked softly.

“She’s still sleepin’.” Tara hadn’t moved for hours, thanks to the meds she’d taken earlier. “Good thing ‘cause she’s in a lot of fucking pain. I shoulda killed that bastard when I had the chance.” The cops wouldn’t have been fast enough to stop her before she’d snapped his neck.

Joyce’s lips tightened. “Faith.” Her voice never rose, but damn it. The tone wrapped around Faith and managed to drag her chin to her chest.

“Sorry,” she apologized automatically. She didn’t mean it, though. Tara’s father had deserved more than the beating Faith had given him. Stroking her fingers through Tara’s hair, Faith said, “T’s hurtin’ and trying not to let me know. It’s better now she’s sleepin’.” Tara hid a lot of things, Faith realized. She hadn’t exactly rushed to tell Faith her father was a crazy bastard. Or that he’d used Tara as a practice dummy for his whip-wielding techniques. Of course, it made sense she hadn’t been quick to reveal her past. Not with Faith telling her every day that their bond wasn’t wanted.

“Tara is going to be fine. Really.” Joyce moved closer and touched Faith’s shoulder for an instant before her hand dropped away. “Are you, honey? You’ve gone through a lot, too, this past week. It can’t be easy to bond this late.” She picked up Tara’s desk chair and set it right next to the side of the bed where Faith had maintained her vigil. “It’s bad enough when someone shows up in your head and you’re nine or twelve. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you or Buffy or Tara, waiting so long to have that special person finally arrive.”

Special. Faith glanced at Tara and smiled. Yeah, that about said it all. Tara was special. “I’m good.” Or she would be as soon as Tara was back on her feet.

“That’s probably an exaggeration.” Was Joyce being serious? Faith risked a look at Joyce and sighed. Damn it! Why did Buffy’s mother always want to push and make Faith tell the truth? So what if she’d maybe fibbed a little? She’d be good in no time. “But I won’t make you talk to me anymore,” Joyce continued. And _now_ she winked at Faith. “I’m sure you’re starving. I left the standard Scooby staple on the counter: doughnuts and pizza. The research crew has some questions for you, if you feel up to it.”

Faith wasn’t leaving this room. Not until Tara said she had to.

Joyce could out-stubborn even Faith, though. She might not have Tara’s frosty expression or icy blue eyes, but she could absolutely get her Domme on. Her simple, unspoken expectation that Faith would get up and leave as requested settled on Faith’s shoulders like a lead weight. A weight that grew heavier with every breath until Faith thought she might sink all the way through the bed _and_ the floor.

With a carefully hidden (mostly, anyway) grumble, Faith carefully got up and yanked on her clothes. “You let me know if she wakes up.” It didn’t matter that Faith’s cuff rested on her right wrist as she issued the command. She meant it. Joyce better come get her if Tara woke up.

“I promise,” Joyce answered with no additional prompting.

Faith nodded and took a step toward the door before reversing direction. Pressing a light kiss to Tara’s cheek, she whispered at the still-closed bond. _“I’ll be right back, T.”_ She straightened and left the room with swift, sure strides.

Scooby meetings never changed. Piles of books dotted Trish’s living room floor. Scrolls, empty plates, and notebooks filled any empty spot between the books and the bodies sprawled on the carpet and the furniture. And that’s where the similarities finally ended. Although the original Scoobies _were_ in residence, there were new additions: Trish and Maxie, Becky, another girl Faith figured was Rhonda, and Scott and Marlee.

At least Monica and Drew weren’t there.

“Grab some pizza. Mom ordered your favorite.” Buffy yawned and wiggled back against Xander until he simply picked her up and set her on his lap. From her satisfied expression, that was exactly what Buffy had wanted. “Double pepperoni and sausage.”

Faith’s stomach growled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. “Mrs. S said you had questions.” Not bothering with a plate, Faith snagged an entire pie from the stack of boxes on the coffee table and flopped to the floor – as far away from Maxie and Trish as possible. They still weren’t happy with her, and she wasn’t risking heartburn from their unfriendly glares. Not that Janna’s expression was any warmer.

Willow noticed the cool stare and poked Janna in the side. “Be nice, _Doamn_ _ᾰ.”_

The poke at least transferred Janna’s evil eye to Willow – except it then broke up into a forgiving smile and a kiss. Perfect. Smiles and kisses for Willow and a whole lot of nasty glares for Faith. Just another day in the life of a second-class Slayer.

“We’ve been reading the books you brought.” Scott waved the one in his hand. “They’re fascinating.” The accent wasn’t clipped and British, but that didn’t make his weird enthusiasm any different than Giles’.

The unknown Slayer that Faith thought was Rhonda snorted. “Give me a break. ‘Fascinating?’ Only if the electricity goes out and there is zero TV, radio, circus clowns, or mimes. Otherwise, reading this shit’s enough to make me want to slice my wrists.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Faith paused mid-chew. Those quiet times normally followed _her_ less than socially acceptable comments.

“Not clowns,” Xander said, breaking the silence. His shudder was so overdone that Buffy jiggled on his lap. “They scare me. All the bright color around the eyes and those massive noses. Oh…Oh, and the creepy wigs.” He glanced at Rhonda. “I’d rather read a hundred of these books than do anything with a clown.”

As usual, his clowning around (Faith grinned at her own intentional mental pun) had everyone laughing. “Well, you are completely safe here, Xander. There are no clowns to fill your nightmares.” Giles leaned against Lydia’s calf, one of the only times Faith had seen him out from behind his desk. And she’d never seen him so…openly submissive. Lydia was actually stroking her fingers through his hair. “There _are,_ however, nearly the hundred tomes you mentioned lying about this living room.”

“Which we’ve all read what seems like a hundred times.” Trish rubbed her eyes. “Faith, please, please answer Mr. Giles’ questions. Please.” Her eyes were bloodshot, whether from the energetic rubbing or exhaustion Faith couldn’t tell. “Memorizing California penal codes is more fun than the _Books of Ascension_ and I’m not a member of the Council. I may never sleep again after this. I’ll never get some of these rituals and spells and demons out of my head.”

Faith was now the center of attention. Dropping the slice of pizza still clutched in her hand, Faith nodded. “What do ya’ need to know?”

Gesturing to the books scattered around the room, Giles said, “You brought us the _books_ of Ascension. I erroneously assumed that whatever the Mayor was planning was painstakingly described throughout the entire collection.”

“It’s not?” Faith was glad she’d stopped eating. The few bites she’d managed threatened to return. Had the trip to City Hall been a waste of time?

“Oh, I believe the ritual is definitely within one of the volumes.” Giles grimaced and held out the book in his hand until Faith scooted across the floor and took it. “As you can see from this particular work, there are apparently many different avenues the Mayor might pursue.” He waited while Faith opened the book and flipped through the pages, staring blankly at the hand-written text and ink sketches of demons and symbols. “You told Agent Brooks that the Mayor completed a ritual.”

Not again. Faith closed the book with a snap. She wasn’t going over that again. “Giles…”

“I do not need a full description.” He smiled, almost as if he knew she had been ready to refuse. “We are most interested in one particular piece of the ritual. Do you remember the words of the spell the Mayor recited?”

Giles was kidding, right? He had to be. Between the feel of Trick in the room, the realization that the Mayor wasn’t the closest thing to a father she’d ever had, Faith had been in no shape to listen to the spell. “I don’t… It wasn’t English.” She closed her eyes the way Agent Brooks had asked her to do that morning. “There was red light. Inside the circle.” His voice had been funny. Not his usual voice. It had echoed somehow. “Protest…um…in…invoco.”

It had been so cold in the storage room. Faith shivered and crossed her arms remembering the chill. “Fill…something.” She hadn’t been listening to the words that night. She’d been trying make up for her mistakes. “Omni periculo…” No matter how hard she strained, Faith couldn’t remember anything else.

Marlee grabbed a book and frantically turned pages. Whatever she’d been hunting must not have been there. “That sounds familiar.” She tried another book. Then another. “Here! Faith, is _this_ the spell? _Potestatem matris nostrae in tenebris invoco…maledictum filium tuum ab omni periculo custodias nunc et in saecula_?”

“Maybe?” Faith knew the information was important; she just couldn’t remember. “I’m sorry.” She’d rarely apologized for anything in her life, and now she seemed to do it every time she opened her mouth.

Shaking her head, Marlee said, “There no way someone not trained in the arcane would ever remember a full invocation.” She pointed to a page in the book on her lap. “But the ritual you described to the FBI agent and the words you _do_ remember are close enough to _this_ particular path to Ascension.”

There was more than one? “So we know how to stop him now?” Becky pumped a fist in the air. “That’s my Watcher. She’s a genius.”

The glowing praise did nothing to lessen Marlee’s grim expression. “We have no idea how to defeat him. However, I am fairly certain that the end result of the Mayor’s Ascension will be _this_.” More pages turned before Marlee unfolded one of the pages. It took up most of Trish’s coffee table.

Two feet of horror, sketched with painstaking detail, resembling one of the Chinese dragons on the plate glass windows of Uncle Wong’s Chinese Buffet on the edge of town.


	66. Chapter 66

“We might need more than a stake to kill that.” Becky tilted her head. “And dragons usually have armor, right? Crossbows are out, too, unless we got lucky and found a weak spot. Man, I don’t want to get close enough to use a sword.”

What did that leave? Faith pulled the book across the table and stared at the picture. The man she’d thought of as her sort-of father was going to be that. “Can’t kill him now. Swords don’t do dick, and he ain’t afraid of nothing.” Except Tara. Faith frowned. “Except…he went after T. Does that mean magic will kill him?”

Willow thought about answering. Faith saw her mouth open…and then her eyes slid toward Janna and Willow’s mouth closed. Janna didn’t even attempt to speak. She probably didn’t know. Not surprising. It had been clear when Faith was still with the Council that Willow was the stronger witch. Willow also did more research into spells, too. She needed to get Willow alone and get her talking. Willow pushed the envelope with Janna; however, Faith figured she’d been right at the edge of “too much” when they’d scrambled to find Tara.

“Your Tara is the magical expert, isn’t she?” Marlee asked.

Janna’s narrowed-eyed glare didn’t keep Faith from flushing with pride. “Yeah, she is.” For all their classes and spell practice, Willow and Janna hadn’t gotten nabbed by the Mayor. He’d saved the rough shit for Tara.

“Since Tara isn’t up to research right now…” Was that disapproval in Janna’s tone? What reason did she have to get all bitchy? “I’ll reach out Tara’s High Priestess Melody. She’s been our consultant in the arcane since Mr. Giles took over the House.”

“I know she’s been your contact, Janna.” Giles leaned against Lydia, tired and worn and very un-Giles-like. “However, this is beyond all our experience. The demon Marlee pointed out looks quite similar to the Lo-Hash reference that Willow found on her Internet. I am sure you recall we have not unearthed a way to defeat such a demon. To make our situation even less tenable, Faith’s account of the Mayor’s ritual and his invincibility are far outside the scope of any witch in this area.” He managed a smile at Faith. “Tara is incredibly powerful, my dear. The Mayor was wise to fear that. I wonder, though…Does she actually have the knowledge to construct a counter-spell or another means of ending the Mayor’s Ascension? We don’t know. We truly need the might of the Council.”

The Council. No one in the room belonged to the Council anymore.

“Then we go to Plan B.” Buffy left her comfortable perch on Xander’s lap. She always paced when she needed to think, and sure enough, she dodged books and people as she made her way around the living room.

“Buffy…” That was more like the “old” Giles. Faith grinned at his clear frustration.

“Don’t go there, Giles.” Buffy turned and all her Dominance was on display. It hit Faith like a ton of bricks, and she the other submissive in the room huddle close to their bondmates. Becky dropped to her knees. “We need the Council, but I’m not crawling back. We do this on my terms.” Or not at all. Faith understood the unspoken part of Buffy’s ultimatum.

After a tense pause, Giles nodded jerkily. “I do not agree with your plan; however, as I do not have another solution, I must concede with your wishes.” Faith had always admired the way Giles managed to withstand Buffy’s Dominance. Pressed tightly to Lydia’s calf, he still kept his composure – and let everyone in the room know he thought Buffy was out of her mind. He was only giving in because he didn’t have a better plan.

The knowledge didn’t deter Buffy. “Will, I want to do one of those conference call things. Pull in LA, London, New York, and Lisbon.” Her voice was sharp and tight, a sure sign Buffy wasn’t as calm as she seemed.

Willow hesitated less than a heartbeat, barely waiting for Janna’s sigh and nod of approval, before beginning her computer magic. Faith didn’t blame her for nearly cutting Janna out of the action. Buffy was still in Bitch Mode and it was hard to think about anything other than going belly up for her.

“What are you planning?” Lydia’s hand was clamped tight to Giles’ shoulder. “You cannot be so arrogant to believe you can take on the Slayer’s Council.”

Buffy’s smile promised pain and more pain for anything or anyone in her path. “I’m not taking on anything. I’m taking something back. The Council. The Slayer’s Council.” She took a step toward Giles and Lydia, and Faith wondered if she imagined Lydia’s instinctive attempt to meld into the couch, away from the threat in Buffy’s posture. “You all seem to forget that this isn’t the Watcher’s Council. It belongs to us. The Slayers. The ones out there in the cemeteries and the warehouses, protecting all of you with nothing more than nerves and sharpened pieces of wood.”

Lydia scowled – but didn’t argue.

“Buffy?” Willow hesitantly interrupted the showdown. “I have everyone on the line. The Slayers, anyway. There aren’t…there aren’t any Watchers.” Setting her computer on the coffee table, she spun it so Buffy could see the screen. The rest of the research crew scrambled into positions to see as well.

“We have to move now,” Buffy announced. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the way we wanted to do this.”

The computer screen was broken into tiny “squares”, each one holding the image of a Slayer or a group of Slayers. One of them shrugged at Buffy’s apology. “We are ready to follow your lead,” she said with an accent Faith couldn’t place. She didn’t sound like Giles or Lydia, though. The Lisbon Slayer? “I’ve recalled all of our teams from patrol.”

“Here as well.” That Slayer, a girl with skin so pale she glowed on the screen, was definitely English. “You realize what we do might well be considered blackmail or even, I dare say, murder? We have left Greater London completely without protection.”

Blackmail? Murder? Recalled patrols? What the Hell was Buffy planning? Faith rose to her knees. “B?”

Buffy held out her hand and Faith stood. “Faith, what the Council did to you, what they’re trying to do now… You aren’t the only one.” She met Faith’s eyes, and Faith’s stomach clenched. Buffy knew. Knew all of her secrets. The knowledge was there in the open pity in Buffy’s gaze. She tensed, ready to fight or flee, but Buffy didn’t lay Faith’s past on the table. “They have a prison in Scotland and another in Tel Aviv for ‘problem’ Slayers. Slayers like us who weren’t identified by the identification spells. Slayers who break the rules or don’t fit into their idea of what a Slayer should be.”

“I didn’t just break rules,” Faith admitted in a ragged whisper. She’d killed Allan Finch.

Another Slayer spoke from the computer. “The prisons aren’t everything.” She sounded angry. “We’ve been over this, Buffy. We’ve read the files Willow sent. We’re all in agreement. It’s time to get rid of the bastards pulling our strings. I thought that’s what this call was. Or are you going to stand around and debate some more?”

Faith shuddered as Buffy’s expression chilled further. The bitch mouthing off was begging to die. “Will,” Buffy’s voice was gentle, in direct contract to the murderous gleam in her eyes, “use Giles’ authentication codes and call an emergency Council session. Include them on this chat.”

“On it.” The tip of Willow’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she swung the computer back around. A few of the Slayers already in the online chat groaned at the motion.

Another, braver soul laughed. “You use that tongue for anything better than computer work?”

Janna was up in a flash, crowding Willow’s shoulder and leaning in front of the eyeball camera perched on the edge. “I will be more than happy to visit New York when this is over and teach you manners. I do not think you will enjoy the lesson.” Energy sizzled in the air and a sudden, visible “cloud” gathered around Janna and Willow. Faith had never seen Janna use magic so openly outside the Workroom. Everyone was so tightly wound; the idiot on the conference call had shoved Janna very close to a magical explosion

The Slayer’s response to Janna’s threat was too low for Faith to hear, despite her enhanced senses. It was enough to end the magic show, though. Janna lost her cloud but didn’t leave Willow’s side as Willow worked on Buffy’s request. “Doing this by computer…” Willow’s head popped over the top of the laptop screen. “Buffy, this is the Council. I’m not sure they even know how to use a computer. We may have to do this by phone.”

“No.” Buffy didn’t budge. “I want to see the Council big wigs.” Then she reconsidered. “Giles, call someone. Anyone. Call the meeting and get them online.”

“I’ll do it,” Lydia answered for Giles, who had begun punching numbers on Trish’s phone before Buffy had finished speaking. She ripped the handset out of Giles’ hand and did a little punching of her own. A minute later, she spoke in clipped tones. “Oliver, it’s Lydia Chalmers. We have a situation in Sunnydale.”

Faith picked up only a few words of Oliver’s response. “…abandoned your post… cannot…charges…”

“Do stop being tiresome. I have not abandoned anything. Quentin is a bloody plank. He refuses to acknowledge the very real threat to Sunnydale and perhaps all of California and the United States. In accordance with the Watcher’s Handbook, Title Four, Chapter Six, Subchapter One, Part A, Section 522, I am calling an Emergency Meeting of the Executive Council. Since I am sure you will insist on following the tiniest letter of the law, you may note that my official Council designation is Chalmers, Lydia T. Watcher in Charge, Western US Region Three. Identification Alpha 473 Gamma. As this is a matter of utmost urgency, I will have a member of my staff email you information for an Internet conference. I will expect you to join within the next five minutes or I shall declare a State of Emergency in this region and take control of all Council resources in my purview.”

There was an outraged squawk then a flood of babble worthy of Willow.

“Stop wasting time.” Lydia was all confident Dominant. “You have three minutes remaining, Oliver. Do not be late.” She hung up with a vicious jab to the handset keypad.

A second later, Giles murmured, “You were quite magnificent, Mistress.” It earned a thin (yet pleased) smile from Lydia. Giles pulled his attention back to Buffy. “I assume you have formulated a plan for the upcoming conversation?”

Every Slayer (in the living room and on the computer) laughed.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Giles grimaced as if in pain. “It will not be easy to sway the Council, Buffy. Surely you are aware that Quentin holds much power with the Watchers, and…”

“I don’t care about the Watchers, Giles.” Waving her hand at Willow, Buffy got the laptop pointed in their direction again. “I have something better. Slayers. Do you know why Slayers trump old men and women who like rulebooks more than the people they’re sworn to protect and train?”

Her words lashed across the room, and poor Giles finally broke. Face pale, he pressed back into Lydia and shook his head.

“Listen and learn.” Buffy was nearly as magnificent as Tara with all her Dominance hanging out, eyes blazing with passion and body coiled and poised for action. Faith glanced at Xander and saw his complete adoration. He hung on every word Buffy uttered. “Will?”

“The Council’s on.” Willow had moved to one side of the laptop and waited, fingers over the keys. “I’ll let them into the chat when you’re ready.”

“We’re ready.” Buffy’s words encompassed every Slayer, every member of the research team. Willow tapped a key – and a new picture sprang to life. Fifteen men and women around a dark table. Buffy didn’t wait for them to speak. “My name is Buffy Summers. Effective immediately, you’re fired.”

Fired? Faith tried to hide her shock. The bastards on the Council didn’t make the same attempt. They openly sneered at Buffy’s statement. “You have no authority to remove us.” Faith recognized Quentin Travers from the framed painting that hung in Giles’ office at the House. “You have proven, beyond any doubt, that replacing Rupert Giles as the Senior Watcher in Sunnydale and ordering your interment at our rehabilitation facility at Cape Wrath was a sound decision.”

Wait! What? The Council wanted to lock Buffy up? Since when?

Completely unaffected by Quentin’s threat, Buffy turned to Giles. “Does the word ‘fired’ mean something different in England?”

“Well, no. I do not believe so. However,” Giles climbed to his feet and joined Buffy as she loomed over the computer, “I have not become so Americanized that I cannot assist. Let me attempt to deliver your message more clearly in a language that the Council is sure to comprehend, my dear.” Planting his hands on the coffee table, Giles leaned right in front of the camera eye. “Quentin, it is my pleasure to announce that you and all of your bloody sycophants have been sacked. Dismissed. Given the boot. Asscanned. Shall I continue? I have a very extensive vocabulary in the Queen’s English as well as the less proper vernacular.”

“Asscanned,” Xander whispered with a wide grin. “I like that one.”

So did Faith. She pulled Giles away from the camera and took his place in front of the camera. “Now that ya’ got the memo, grab your shit and get the fuck out. B’s in charge now.”

“And to make sure Buffy stays in charge,” the girl Faith figured was the Lisbon Slayer announced, “patrols in all major cities have been halted until the International Headquarters has been abandoned by all Watchers. Slayer teams have been dispatched to…assist you in packing.”

“You can’t do that!” one of the female Watchers shouted. “Do you realize how many people might die because of your actions?”

Buffy nodded grimly. Before she answered, Becky spoke for her. “About as many people that might die if you arrest Buffy and Faith and refuse to give us the information you have on demonic ascension and a demon called…” She paused, peering at the drawing Marlee had found. “Olvikan.”

In a more conciliatory tone, Giles regained control of the conversation. “Imelda, do not imagine that my Slayer takes this drastic action without the proper forethought. The Council…we have lost our way. When the Slayer’s Council was founded, our duty as Watchers was clear. We watched and documented. In later years, we became teachers and mentors for young women called by destiny to battle evil.” He peered imploringly into the camera. “Can you honestly say that recent decisions are at all concerned with teaching or mentoring? Or have we, the Watchers of the Council, become so enamored of power that we treat those same young women, the warriors against the darkness, as pawns in our own political game? Quentin has declared Faith a danger to society for nothing more than an accidental death. A death orchestrated by the very same man seeking to transform into a demon of ancient legend. And Buffy? She is a mere nuisance. A common American Slayer who has gained too large a following among the Slayers. She threatens his authority and his stranglehold on the Council.”

Faith watched with awe as Giles continued in a smooth, hypnotic cadence. “The choice of Buffy’s allies on this call are not by chance. “Naiara, the Council’s Senior Slayer in Lisbon, was sentenced to a dozen lashes with a weighted whip for failing to lead a patrol of inexperienced Slayers into a Master vampire’s lair last fall. A suicide mission, as the Senior Watcher surely knew, considering Naiara’s ‘squadron’ was filled with newly-Called Slayers on their very first patrol.”

A single blow of a weighted whip, landed with the intent to punish rather than play, would flay skin from bone. Faith watched the Slayer she’d correctly pegged as Spanish bow her head.

“Isis is one of our New York Slayers.” The angry Slayer who’d challenged Buffy glared into the computer. “The Council used a legal loophole to forcibly break her bond to a much-younger submissive. A special Executive Order authorized a retrieval team to seize the boy from his primary school and a member of the coven from Châttilon-sur-Seine destroyed the bond.”

Faith decided right then that Buffy was being too nice. They should have sent in teams of Slayers to beat the crap out of Quentin and all the other Watchers on this call.

“The boy died during the procedure, his mind unable to withstand the loss of his soulmate.” Not beaten. That wasn’t enough. Each and every one of those Watchers needed to die. Faith heard someone sob. It wasn’t Isis. Her face was eerily blank. Giles cleared his throat, all the fire and passion gone. “We have destroyed the faith that our Slayers have placed in us. As you, Imelda, blindly followed Quentin’s master plan, I sentenced one of my own Slayers to brutal judicial punishment for the same youthful follies that I indulged in at her age.”

“And I permitted Quentin to cast judgment on Rupert; accepted a punishment for his failure to teach a young girl raised far from the rigid morality of the Council proper comportment.” Lydia held out a hand, and Giles went to her, dropping to one knee and pressing his lips to her fingers. “Then, as if my transgressions were not already enough, I sanctioned a deal with the devil. I convinced our other Slayer to support an in-house reeducation for Faith that ended in yet another senseless and inhuman ‘correction’.”

Legs strangely uncoordinated, Faith stumbled backward. Away from the truth Willow had tried to tell her that day in the locker room.

“Goddess, I bet you laughed when the Council punished Giles for letting you do that!” Willow’s strident shout rang through Faith’s memory.

Even before her run-in with Willow, Faith should have known something was wrong. That day in Giles’ office, when Wes had goaded her about the new training schedule. He’d been waiting for her to refuse. He’d deliberately created a situation designed to push Faith over the edge – and when she did exactly what he’d wanted… He’d called Buffy.

Buffy had walked into that office already knowing that she’d wear the stripes Faith had earned. It had all been part of an “agreement”.

All this time, she’d been wrong. About everything and everyone. Images, snippets of conversation, arguments. They flashed before her eyes like her memory was channel surfing. Buffy holding out her hand in the gym, offering to show Faith a new move. Giles leaning back in his chair with his lips twitching as the Retrieval Team Leader regaled him with Faith’s latest misbehavior. Willow and Xander with their constant jokes and teasing no matter how nasty Faith had been to them.

Something touched Faith’s hip. Xander. He shook his head. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he said softly. “Buffy and Giles knew what they were signing up for. They wanted to help, and they never expected anything from you.”

Maybe. But Faith knew that in their shoes, she would have wanted more than verbal abuse and outright defiance for her help. How could they even look at her after all that? She was so lost in confusion that the missed the increasingly loud and vicious turn of the conference call.

“Faith?” Giles’ question snapped Faith out of her whirling thoughts. The room was silent now. Well, quieter. The laptop screen was dark, the tiny images gone. “Marlee has reminded me of a critical point: Council locations, from the smallest House to the International Headquarters, are equipped for attack.”

As Faith stared at him, not understanding a single word. Buffy took over, thankfully in real English. “Wes plays for Travers. He isn’t going to just pack up and leave without a few parting shots. The House isn’t just a house. It’s got enough hidden firepower to level the block.”

“You’re kiddin’.” Faith started to laugh. It was just a house, wasn’t it? Granted, most places didn’t have shielded magical workrooms in the backyard.

“Nope. Not a single ‘kid’ in the room. If I hadn’t walked in on Giles and Lydia and a pile of building plans, I would be clueless.” Buffy shot Giles an unfriendly glance. “It’s Council policy to plan for the apocalypse. While the rest of the city, town, village, or tiny dot on the map burns to the ground, Slayer facilities have safeguards. Special warding spells. Hidden underground bunkers. And enough weapons to make the Army do the Snoopy Dance in glee. It’s not enough to beat the Mayor apparently. Us, though? Looks like Marlee thinks we’re perfectly helpless targets. We need to hit the House before Wes shuts himself and Kendra in and turns all those nifty toys on us.”

Faith had spit on Buffy over and over. Coming to attention, she vowed to never let Buffy down again. If Buffy needed her help to shut off the fireworks at the House, Faith would be at Buffy’s back. “I’m in, B.”


	67. Chapter 67

“Giles?” Buffy was ready for action. She radiated caged violence. Wes had better stay out of the way or he might meet the same Buffy who had tossed Faith around the House the night she’d slept with Xander

Climbing to his feet, Giles bowed to Lydia. “By your leave, Mistress.” It was a weird way to ask for permission to mastermind a raid since he didn’t give his Dominant a chance to say anything. Instead, he turned to Buffy. “Although you have often flouted my strategies concerning non-violent encounters, _this_ mission must be surgical in its precision. We go in; I disable the doomsday system; we leave. Understood?”

The balance of power started to shift. Faith felt it; saw it in the way Buffy’s shoulders rolled. “You’re the boss.” How Buffy managed that with a straight face was a mystery. Xander coughed to hide _his_ laughter, and Willow didn’t even try to hide hers. “Faith and I’ll get us in. Do you think Wes has the House already warded? Other than the normal stuff?”

Magic. Magic was bad. Faith interrupted what was sure to be a long moment of contemplation from Giles. “Janna, can we drag Red along for the fun?”

It was a dangerous question. One that Faith knew would force Janna to admit uncomfortable truths: Willow was the better witch, and that Janna wasn’t ready or able to be part of the raiding party. Janna’s answer was faster than Faith anticipated – and carried a hefty price tag. “My _drag_ _ᾰ_ is free to go. However, her safety is _your_ responsibility, Faith. Should she come back with a single scratch, I will not be happy, and I will demand you pay for your lack of care…as well as for other matters.”

Like, maybe, a knife to Willow’s throat.

Janna noticed the way Faith glanced at Willow’s neck and then back. Her lips curved in a hard smile. “As a claimed submissive, I am sure your Dominant would be more than happy to accept the punishment in your place.”

Faith froze. She forgot to how to breathe. Giles and Buffy had stepped in for her when she was too lost in arrogance to realize what was happening. Now, though… Now she was completely aware that her actions had consequences that affected more than just her. “Got it,” she finally acknowledged Janna’s masterful plan. Willow would be the safest person on the trip to the House. She would never put Tara in a position where she would feel duty-bound to accept a Judicial Punishment in Faith’s place. And she would. Tara would blame herself for any and all of the stupid things Faith did and she’d just _have_ to exercise her right to be punished in Faith’s place. Bad enough that Giles and Buffy had done it. Having Tara do it would kill Faith.

“Really?” Willow shot Janna a grumpy-faced expression. “If I’m so helpless, why am I even going?” In the throes of a temper tantrum, Willow slammed her laptop closed and climbed to her feet. “I’m a genius. I’ve found most of the information on the Mayor,” she griped. If she thought her voice was too low for the room to hear, Willow was wrong. Faith heard without employing super hearing, and she saw all the submissives shift uncomfortably. The Dominants, especially Janna, were less than impressed with Willow’s rant.

One good turn deserved another. Faith owed Willow for derailing Janna’s anger over the knife incident. She set out to deliberately distract the other girl. “Yeah, yeah, Red. Stop braggin’ and get your shit together. T’s taking a nap and I want to be back by the time she wakes up.” Faith rolled her eyes. “Fuck, all you do is talk. You do that when we get to the House, I’ll gag you.”

Willow transferred her glare to Faith. “You and what army?”

“Don’t need an army.” With a wink, Faith asked, “When was the last time ya’ worked out? ‘Cause you look like you been usin’ those fake excuse notes to get outta gym class all year.” As Willow’s face colored bright red, Faith turned away. “What’s the plan?”

“I am still working on that.” Giles didn’t have a plan? “I shall endeavor to be ready by the time we reach the House.” As if sensing his audience’s disbelief, he straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “What? If worse comes to worse, we shall simply institute the Slayer Special and charge mindlessly through the front door with daggers drawn.”

The room erupted in much-needed laughter. Didn’t Giles remember their previous discussion on planning? Buffy, as usual, stomped on the levity with a curt, “Let’s get going. We’re wasting too much time. I’m sure Travers has been burning up the phone lines, and even Wes is bright enough to lock the door.”

***

“You’re out of time, Giles.” Buffy pulled a dagger from an ankle sheath. “Speak now or it’s the Slayer Special.”

Staring at the front door of the House, Giles stayed silent for a minute. “There is a hidden underground entrance. Follow me.” He jogged down the block at a better clip than Faith expected for a stuffy guy in a three-piece suit. They slipped between the row of hedges and a tall privacy fence separating the House from the nearest neighbor. “Willow, can you tell if any magic has been employed? If Wesley has set the wards or somehow laid a trap, there would be residuals.”

“I know.” Willow wasn’t _quite_ bragging this time. Frowning in concentration, she examined thin air with such intensity, Faith wondered why sparks didn’t fly. A few minutes past. “Nothing. There’s more magic in my fingernail.”

“Yes, well, your magical fingernail might turn us into ash if you are incorrect. Please do check again.” Giles scanned the area warily enough that Faith did her own visual looksee. Nothing moved except the tops of the hedges as the wind picked up.

“There’s nothing here.” Willow shrugged. “In fact, the wards that Janna usually maintains are gone, too. Hang on.” Her head tilted. “ _Doamn_ _ᾰ,_ did you take down the wards? All of them?”

Faith hunched and glared at the grass as Willow “talked” with Janna. She wanted that. Well, she wanted it back. She was such an idiot. She’d had the very best thing: Tara and her fuzzy mental blanket in her mind. Faith had thrown it all away. Tuning out Willow’s conversation (why did it take so long to ask if Janna had sucked all the magic away from the House?), Faith reached out to Tara. “ _Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”_ Was it her imagination or was there a tiny hint of light at the end of the link? “ _Got some shit to do with B and Giles. Would ya’ like some doughnuts for lunch? I know Mrs. S brought some earlier, but I can get some fresh ones.”_

The light at the end of the mind tunnel didn’t go away, but there was still no answer from Tara.

_“Think I remember you eatin’ jelly filled_. _”_ Faith refused to give up. She kept talking at Tara’s end of the bond. “ _Be there as soon as I can.”_

“So Janna said she isn’t maintaining the wards.” Willow pointed at the House, mostly hidden from view thanks to the hedges. “Unless Wes pulled in another really powerful witch, there’s nothing magical keeping us out of the House.”

Willow’s words ended Faith’s one-sided conversation with Tara. “What about that one from the claiming? The ugly one?”

“Gemma,” Giles clarified.

They all looked at Willow, who responded by closing her eyes. “OK, give me a minute. I’ll go a little deeper this time.” Except, from Faith’s perspective, Willow didn’t really do anything different than she had the first time. She stood in one place with her eyes closed.

If the wards were gone, why couldn’t they go in the front door? Kendra was no match for two Slayers, and Faith would enjoy the chance to show off her improving martial arts skills on Wes.

“Huh.” Willow’s eyes popped open. “Still nothing. I guess Lydia’s friend didn’t stick around to help out.” She winked at Faith. “Or Tara scared her so bad she ran all the way back to England.”

Given the way the witch bitch had looked after the showdown at the Bond Registration Office…Faith nodded and enjoyed Willow’s grin. Yep. Gemma had gotten spanked by the better witch. “We still gotta sneak in?” Seemed like a lot of work for nothing if there were no lightning bolts or fireballs aimed in their direction.

“Caution costs nothing.” God, Giles was a pain. He led them farther away from the street, shoving branches and leaves out of the way. Right before they dead-ended at the beginning portion of the neighbor’s fence, Giles stopped. Instead of insisting on another magical check, though, he knelt and dug energetically at the base of a nearby bush.

Had he gone mad? Were they supposed to _dig_ their way in?

After a few minutes, during which Faith considered just hopping the fence onto the House grounds, Giles stopped digging. He brushed dirt away from the small hole he’d made to reveal a metal box. When he lifted the lid, there was a keypad. Giles punched in a series of numbers. A second later, Faith heard a grinding noise.

Had the bushes moved? Faith peered at the foliage. Sure enough, she could see that the ground under the bushes had lifted. There were clear “lines” on both sides of the hedges.

“Buffy, if you please?” Giles asked.

Stepping forward, Buffy bent and grabbed at…was that a _handle_? Faith felt like an idiot. Giles had said there was an underground entrance. An entrance. Under the ground. Like a tunnel. Fuck, did every place in Sunnydale have tunnels?

Unlike the creepy, dark hole in the floor Faith had discovered in City Hall, this tunnel was well lighted. Once Buffy lifted the disguised hatch, lights illuminated a ladder. At a nod from Buffy, Faith took off her jacket and climbed in first. She used the jacket to protect her hands and set the legs of her pants against the outer rails of the ladder. In seconds, she slid all the way down.

Faith maintained her vigilance and examined the lower tunnel. “We’re clear,” she called out in a voice only Buffy would be able to hear. The tunnel was _clean_. Clean like someone had scrubbed it with a toothbrush that morning. All the wall-mounted lights worked, too. And…Awesome! There was a weapons locker tucked into a narrow alcove a few feet away from the ladder. She and Buffy had had to divide the few stakes and daggers Buffy had already been carrying. Faith waited for Giles, though. The locker had a keypad similar to the one “upstairs”, and she didn’t want to set off any non-magical alarm systems.

One by one, the others joined her in the tunnel. Giles was the last one down, and the hatch sealed behind him with a dull thud and then a hiss. “Air lock,” Willow advised. “The tunnel’s completely closed off from the outside and from the House. It has a separate ventilation and power system.” She waited until Giles had moved into the alcove and lowered her voice. “I found the plans online when I hacked the Council. Watchers are _not_ the brightest people on the planet. Every single HQ and House has _exactly_ the same tunnel.”

Buffy had heard the comment. “Want to bet they all have the same code for the alarm, too?”

Giles returned with a pair of crossbows, a dart pistol, and more daggers. “Here. I should hope it would not come to true bloodshed; however, I would be remiss in my duties were we not prepared for the worst.”

“In other words, be ready for a fight,” Buffy summed up. Giles kept the pistol and one of the crossbows. He handed Willow the other crossbow. Giles must not be afraid of Janna’s reaction to Willow being on the front lines. Faith and Buffy divided up the daggers. “Faith, you and I have point. Giles, you take care of Willow. We’ll get you in and then you can find the doomsday thing and shut it off.”

Moving with purpose, Buffy and Faith jogged down the tunnel. It was quiet, with only the hiss of air and the sound of their feet to break up the silence. Faith didn’t trust that. She scanned the tunnel ahead and listened for anything out of place.

When Faith’s inner alarm sounded, though, it wasn’t anything she saw or heard. “B,” she bit out and held up a hand to halt Giles and Willow.

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “Stay put,” she ordered Giles and Willow. “Faith and I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

“Buffy!” Giles reddened and somehow managed to keep his spine straight when Buffy turned her Dominance on him. “If Wesley has armed the House, you will not be able to shut it off without me. You cannot…”

“I can. I am.” Buffy didn’t bat an eyelash at his furious retort. “Faith and I will be back.”

For once, the thrill of being part of Buffy’s chosen team didn’t pump Faith up. The reason they were going in alone was blood. Lots of it. So much that it had clogged her throat and nose even with the tunnel’s ventilation system. Dread coiled deep inside as Faith climbed a ladder behind Buffy, who tapped a code into the keypad to unlock the door into the House.

Voice as strained as her forced smile, Buffy said, “Giles keeps his passwords taped to the bottom of his pencil cup.” The door slid open, and they quickly climbed the final steps into the large walk-in pantry on the first floor. “Stay close.” Buffy’s order was unnecessary. Faith had no intention of going solo.

The kitchen was dark, and the cleaning crew somehow missed a messy blood trail stretching from the large island to the entryway. The smell was worse now that they were out of the tunnel. Faith staring longingly at the trash can as she fought to keep her pizza on the inside. Each step tightened her nerves until she trembled from the strain.

She and Buffy followed the blood down the hallway toward the living room. The once-white walls were marked with signs of battle. Gouges left insulation and drywall on display. An arrow destroyed the tranquil image of a lake in Giles’ favorite painting. Halfway to the living room, Buffy paused and pointed. Piles of dust dotted the hardwood floor. “Vampires,” she mouthed without sound – even though Faith knew what the little piles meant.

What the fuck had happened here? How had vampires managed to get into the House?

The answer waited in the living room. Kendra lay sprawled on the floor. Blood from the jagged bite wound in her neck had soaked the rug around her. A stake still rested on the palm of her open hand. Near the far end of the room, Wes sat propped against the wall. His sightless eyes stared through Faith. A broken bow lay at his side; the string had been wrapped so tightly around his neck that it was embedded in the flesh.

“Oh my God.” Buffy’s hand rose until it rested over her mouth.

Legs like lead, Faith continued her journey. Kendra and Wes couldn’t hurt them now, and they had a mission to complete. She grabbed Buffy’s arm and towed her along. Past Kendra. Past Wes. All the way into the entry hall. Whatever had happened, this area was spotless. The only traces of the horror behind them were a few drops of blood on the lowest step and a bloody handprint on the banister halfway to the second floor.

The climb to the second floor seemed endless. Each choreographed leap into the bedrooms fraught with terror. Buffy and Faith swept every room and closet on two floors. There was nothing and no one in the House. “Basement?” Faith asked tersely. She didn’t think she could take much more, but she’d try if Buffy thought they needed it.

“No.” Buffy wiped sweat off her face, and Faith noticed the tremors in her fingers. Buffy wasn’t holding together much better than she was. “Let’s get Giles, turn off this doomsday thing, and get the hell out of here.”

“We should call the cops, too, B. Wes and Kendra are dead.” Faith could barely say the words. She had hated Wes, but no one deserved to be killed like that. And Kendra had been a Slayer.

“Yeah. As soon Giles does his thing.” Buffy sprinted down the stairs, and Faith scrambled to follow.

***

_“No!” Tara pulled at the chains holding her to the wall. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. Something…something wasn’t right. Fear slithered through her veins, stealing her breath and ramping her heart rate. “No!” she screamed._

“Wake up, honey. Come on. You’re safe.” The soft, gentle voice pulled Tara from her nightmares, and she blinked up at Joyce. “You’re safe, Tara. You’re at Trish and Maxie’s. Everything is fine.”

It wasn’t, though. Tara pushed into a sitting position, ignoring the pain in her back. The fear was still there. It soaked into her mind until her thoughts bashed into each other like bumper cars. Remnants of her nightmare? Or something else?

The locked and barricaded link beckoned at the back of her mind. What if the fear was Faith’s? Tara reached out a mental hand – and then pulled back. No. She wasn’t ever going to do that again. She’d forced her mind on Faith’s once, that night on the roof. After everything that had happened between them, the link needed to stay closed. Forever. Except she clearly _felt_ some of Faith’s emotions. If only tearing down the barrier wasn’t so wrong.

“You look better,” Joyce said. She managed to look sincere, too, despite what had to be a monumental lie. Tara was soaked in sweat, hair hanging in damp tendrils around her face. When Tara arched an eyebrow, Joyce broke down. “I didn’t say you looked _good,_ honey. I said you looked _better_.”

“I don’t want to know how bad that was.” Tara reached out to the bedside table and picked up the water glass. The move pulled at the whip wounds, and the glass wobbled until Joyce snatched it away. She held it to Tara’s lips so she could drink. “I don’t really n-need you to do that. I’ll heal.” Her mother had, every single time her father had whipped her. There had been no doctor, no pain medications, no salves or bandages. There had been no one other than Tara to care for her.

“Yes, you will. And you’ll sit in this bed and let someone help you so that you heal faster – and I won’t have to cuff you down.” Joyce wasn’t budging. Tara had to glance away from the power of her stare. “Would you like something to eat? It’s almost time for your next dose of medication.”

Tara didn’t want more. She didn’t want to spend more time unconscious. She _wanted_ to get out of the bed and find Faith. To find out what was causing the fear. No, wait. Not fear anymore. Tara frowned, struggling to identify the dark, heavy emotion somehow still trickling through the seal she’d placed on the link the night before. Damn it! “What’s going on?”

If Joyce knew, she was a far better liar than Tara. “The gang’s still researching; Giles has them re-reading all the Books of Ascension.”

Researching didn’t cause whatever was wrong with Faith. Tara remembered Faith’s bored expression when they’d toured the library at the House. Researching caused _that_ – and the occasional Slayer sparring match, according to Willow. Ready to take on Joyce if she had to, Tara braced herself against the pain and threw off the sheets and comforter. She was going to get to the bottom of the emotional mess in Faith’s mind.

“What are you doing?” Joyce sprang forward.

This time, it was _Joyce_ who backed away from Tara’s steely gaze. Pain wasn’t new for Tara. Using the headboard and the nightstand as aids, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and levered onto her feet. The world spun for one horrible second then steadied. “Open the door, please.” Tara limped across the room without waiting for Joyce’s answer.

By the time she reached the door, though, Joyce was there (scowl and all) to yank it open. She also hovered at Tara’s shoulder all the way down the hall and into the living room. The gang _was_ there with piles of books. However, key members of the team were missing. “Wh-where’s Faith?” Tara’s surge of determination wilted, since Faith wasn’t part of the group reluctantly flipping pages. “D-did someth-thing happen to her?”

Lydia answered. “Faith is at the House with Rupert. He took some of the children with him to check on a few matters.” She paused, appearing to search for the right words.

“And?” Tara prodded hesitantly.

“They discovered the Mayor had gotten there first,” Lydia said.


	68. Chapter 68

A pall fell over the room. Tara huddled in the armchair Becky had vacated for her and watched Xander listlessly flip through one of the many books strewn around the room. Every few seconds, his eyes rose and locked onto the door. Waiting. Watching. For Buffy.

What had the Mayor done? Tara wanted to ask but didn’t. Simply observing the group told her that ignorance was bliss.

Janna resembled Xander. She was clearly anxious and waiting for Willow. She’d given up on books, though. She clutched Willow’s closed laptop to her chest. Her lips moved silently. A sign of a mental conversation with her submissive? Prayer? Tara couldn’t tell.

Only Lydia showed no sign of strain over what had happened. Of course, her calm might have been a lie. After her clipped announcement, Lydia had fallen silent. Her features appeared carved from stone. She sat rigidly in her chair (spine stiff and inches from the chair back the way Wesley had tried to teach Faith). Her hands gave away Lydia’s tension, though. They clutched one of the books so tightly that the knuckles showed white.

Tara felt her lack of true bonding with Faith more sharply than ever. If she could only reach out, she could find out what had happened. She could do it, too. Reach out. Easily. She’d sensed Faith’s touch on the barrier earlier; a little of Faith’s complex emotions, a mix of fear, despair, and hatred had managed to leak through. Despite her desire to be like every other bonded couple in the room, Tara kept the blockage in place. She’d trusted Faith before and paid a heavy price. She’d made a mistake then and she’d nearly made another earlier when she’d allowed herself to hope that _this_ time would be different. This time was the same as before. Faith didn’t want their bond. Once Faith’s guilt over Tara’s kidnapping eased, Faith would leave.

Blocking the link was the best choice for both of them.

A tiny voice deep inside (oddly husky and accented) called Tara a coward and a liar. Tara ignored that voice. She cleared her throat and waited until the research crew glanced at her. “D-did the Books have anyth-thing useful?”

One of the Slayers – Rhonda, probably, since Tara didn’t recognize her – snorted. “Not so you’d notice. Unless you have a spell that works on dragons.”

Dragons? The girl had to be joking; however, no one in the room cracked the smallest smile. “Sorry,” Tara mumbled. “No.” She was powerful. What they were asking was impossible. No one, Adept or amateur, could hope to destroy a monster of legend.

“Are you sure?” Marlee stood and carried one of the Books over. She showed Tara a picture. “This is Olvikan. We think it is, or is similar to, the demon the Mayor is hoping to become. Your Faith,” the phrase hit Tara hard, first warm pleasure that was swamped by chill loss, “is convinced the Mayor hired your family because he sees you as a threat. Why? What magical weapon will defeat _this_?” she asked, pointing to the picture.

Shaking her head, Tara stared at the Book. “M-magic is a celebr-bration of Nature. Not a weap-pon.” It had been one of her mother’s favorite sayings. A warning against misusing her magic.

_“No, Tara. Listen.” Her mother’s smile was strained, her pain showing so clearly that Tara reached for the lock on the cage door. “Don’t!” Fear turned the command into a plea. “I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”_

_It was a lie. Tara was tired of lies. “You’re not fine, Mama.” She’d watched her mother shrink into herself over the last months. The whippings had grown more frequent. They were rarely alone now. Donny or her father were always at home. Always watching. Not today, though. “I don’t understand. I know you can get out. I know you’re stronger than Papa if you use your magic. I know you could get away. Do a spell, Mama. Or let me do it. Please,” Tara begged. She was so afraid. Her mother appeared so tired and frail._

_As always, her mother shook her head. “Magic doesn’t work that way. Have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you? Magic isn’t a weapon. We use our magic to celebrate Nature and our love of the Goddess.”_

Had her mother been wrong? Her mother had died because she’d steadfastly refused to use her only weapon against Tara’s father. Tara wasn’t like that. She’d already twisted her mother’s teaching for the Trial. Much of what she’d endured had forced her to utilize her magic for offensive purposes. If the testers hadn’t failed her for that, didn’t that indicate they believed magic _could_ be used as a weapon?

“I’m not as good as Willow with a computer,” Janna said, interrupting Tara’s internal argument. “But I went back over the information Willow found about Olvikan when we first started researching the Ascension. There’s nothing that helps.” Her tone was wry. “Unless knowing the Mayor will be bigger than the Empire State Building once he Ascends gives us an edge.”

Marlee closed the Book and moved away from Tara. “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

They’d accepted Tara’s refusal. She huddled deeper into the chair. They hadn’t given up; they’d simply allowed Tara to be a coward and hide away. Tara watched them. Watched _all_ of them, including Maxie and Trish, face their fears and move on. Books came out again. Janna reopened Willow’s laptop. None of them were waving the white flag of defeat – even though Tara still saw signs of fear and exhaustion on every face.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Why had they rescued her? Tara couldn’t help with the Mayor. Tracking down her family and giving statements to the FBI had all taken time and resources that should have been used on the Mayor. Faith and Buffy might have been hurt or…or killed rescuing her, too, providing the Mayor an even better chance of Ascending.

Closing her eyes shut out the research crew. It didn’t shut out the whirl of dark thoughts. Trapped inside her own mind, Tara shuddered from the chill until a flare of light surged around the edge of the link.

_T?_ Faith’s call was faint yet the worry was clear. _What’s…on? Almost there._

Tara couldn’t prevent her flush of pleasure at Faith’s mental voice; her obvious caring. But she didn’t reach back. She sat very still in the chair and in her mind. Unbidden, memories filled the silence.

_“One day, you’ll find the perfect submissive.” Tara’s mother laughed at her disbelieving scowl. “What if your face freezes like that? You might scare your boy or girl away. Come on. Stop. Think about how wonderful it will be, to have someone who is the one person in all the world just for you.”_

_Without thinking, Tara asked bitterly, “The way Papa is so perfect for you?”_

_Shock. Grief. Shame. They flitted across her mother’s face before disappearing behind the blank mask her mother usually only wore when her father was home. “Fate always knows what is best for each of us, Tara. Don’t forget that. Who are we to question what Fate and the Goddess give us?”_

Why hadn’t her mother questioned Fate? Maybe if she had, she’d still be alive. Alive. Goddess. Tara realized she was shaking and that tears streaked her face. Her mother was dead, and Tara had nearly shared her fate.

The pressure on the barrier in her mind increased and then the front door exploded open. Voices rose around the room, and bodies moved and merged as bonded Dominants and submissives rushed together. “What the fuck are you doin’ up? You outta your mind?” Faith was in Tara’s face, eyes flashing.

***

Tara was asking for Faith to kick her ass. Oh, and Joyce’s. Joyce had been responsible for keeping Tara in bed. On the verge of snarling at Tara some more, Faith stopped.

Were those _tears_ on Tara’s cheeks?

Crap. Faith backed off, slumping to the floor. She screwed up every single time she was with Tara. “Sorry.” That wasn’t right. Wasn’t enough. “Ma’am. Tara.” Giving up, Faith clamped her mouth shut and simply tried to at least _look_ like she was a proper submissive.

The difference between Faith and a “proper” submissive was glaringly clear, though. She might be on her knees at Tara’s feet, but that was the only similarity. Janna had a death grip on Willow (who didn’t look like she minded giving up the chance to breathe). Lydia and Giles were made of sterner stuff. He didn’t curl up in her lap and there was no hugging. However, Faith saw the way Lydia’s hand shook as it brushed against Giles’ collar.

Watching Buffy and Xander, though, was the real punch to the gut. Buffy was at the top of her game. She was, in Faith’s experience, the best Slayer ever. She’d openly declared war on the Council. Yet Xander was on his knees. Pressed so tightly against Buffy’s legs that there was no separation. Eyes closed, Buffy appeared to suck energy and strength straight from Xander.

Faith wanted that. She wanted to burrow into Tara’s calves and feel that warm, fuzzy mental blanket in her head that she associated with Tara wrap around her. Tara didn’t seem up to that, however. She needed _Faith_ to be her strength this time. It didn’t matter that images of Wes’ blank and bulging eyes floated in Faith’s memory. If Tara would just _touch_ her, would open the bond, Faith would give everything she had to erase Tara’s tears and return the bright, crystal blue to her eyes.

The touch never came. Faith _did_ lean into Tara, but there was no hand stroking her hair or neck. No mental brush on her mind. Tara was there – yet clearly and painfully not there. _“Come on, T. Let me in.”_ There was no answer. Faith scooted backward on her knees until she was tucked against the chair’s footrest and Tara’s calves. It wasn’t nearly enough contact. _“Please,_ ” she begged silently.

“I notified the local police and the FBI of the murders.” Giles had lost his polish. The clipped cadence of his speech had slowed, the edges of the words somehow rounder. Like he was eating a light bulb, and the fat end was stuck at the back of his mouth.

“Why the Sunnydale PD?” Maxie had given up her earlier spot next to Trish on the floor. Hands full of empty glasses, she puttered around the room. “Won’t they just report everything to the Mayor?”

Faith had asked the same question when Giles made the call from the House. His explanation was the same now. “Possibly. We cannot afford to hide this crime – especially if, as we suspect, the Mayor is behind Wesley and Kendra’s deaths.”

“I still don’t get why.” Faith hadn’t intended to say anything. The rest of the talking heads in the room could yap about Wes, Kendra, and all that blood. But, damn it, she really _didn’t_ understand why the Mayor had sent his boys to the House. “We ain’t got nothing on him. Nothing except some freaky drawing in a book. No spell. No weapon. He’s gonna turn into that dragon while we sit here. Why kill Wes and Kendra?”

She was used to Giles providing all the answers, with Willow as his irritating sidekick. There were more Watchers involved now. Scott provided one answer. “Maybe we – or Wesley – have something we don’t know about. Maybe the way to defeat the Mayor isn’t in the Books of Ascension but in something at the House.”

“Or he simply wanted to distract us.” Marlee added to the list of explanations. “It’s a Hell of a strategy. Kidnap Tara. Take out the only official Council representatives in Sunnydale. If nothing else, we’re stuck dealing with local cops. Add in the FBI because of Tara’s family…We’ve got a lot to keep our minds off research.”

“Not to mention I may never sleep again.” Willow wiggled until Janna loosened her hold. “All that blood,” she mumbled. “Everywhere. Walls. Floor.” She looked green. “Makes me want to hide someplace safe, like a cave, and never come out.”

Finally “waking up” from her Xander-induced happy place, Buffy shook her head. “No can do, Will. We’re the only chance Sunnydale has. No hiding until this is all over.” One of her rare, mischievous grins snuck out. “And you know I’m too girly for a cave. Me and Xan will be holed up at the Holiday Inn down in Oxnard.” The smile faded, but Buffy’s determination didn’t. She was all Slayer as she swept the room with laser-like gaze. “I’m tired of being a step behind the Dragon Mayor. How do we beat him to the finish line?”

“Tara says magic is out,” Marlee announced, and Faith stiffened.

“That ain’t right.” Tara never looked at Faith – who ignored the urge to poke her Dominant. Hard. “The Mayor was all freaked out about T. About her magic.” She’d talked about this so many times in the past twenty-four hours, it was easy to recite all the times and ways he’d threatened Tara.

“Afraid of Tara? Or of what _you_ might tell us?” Lydia asked. “Have we all focused so heavily on the magical aspect that we have overlooked something as simple as the information you possess, Faith?” It was the only time Faith remembered Lydia talking to her directly except for her snarky comments and finger snapping at the warehouse the other night.

No! Were they all crazy? Or… Faith replayed everything the Mayor had said to her about Tara. Had she misread him? “I don’t know nothin’,” she said softly. “I was too stupid to see what he was. What he was doin’. All I got is the ritual and his pet vamp Trick.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Lydia shifted so that she could look directly at Faith. “All of us, you included, saw Tara as the focus of the Mayor’s actions. Then there was her kidnapping. Magic made the most sense as a root cause. Because we all believed that, we could easily have overlooked other important information.”

“Like what?” Faith exploded off the floor. “I’m tellin’ you, I got nothin’. All I fucking cared about was leavin’ the Council.” No one responded; although, Faith half-expected Tara to rein her in. When Tara didn’t, the ache in Faith’s heart and mind pushed her farther over the edge. Words hard and fast, she snarled at the room. “The Mayor didn’t tell me anything. You want to know what I know, here it is. He’s a slimy bastard who treated me better, wanting to be a demon and all, than anyone in this room.” Almost anyone. Tara had been the sole exception. Faith flinched away from that thought. “Those books,” she stabbed a finger toward the biggest pile of them, “were important. He called ‘em ‘my books.’ Whatever’s in ‘em, they told him what he had to do. The Box at the airport. The ritual. Told him how long he had to get it all done. A hundred days. Less,” Faith clarified, remembering the Mayor’s comments after the ritual.

What else had he given away? “He’s old. Really fuckin’ old.” Centuries, he’d said. There was something… A little of her anger slipped as she tried to remember. They’d been in front of the collar shop. He’d been asking about Tara. About how much Tara knew.

Thinking aloud, Faith replayed their conversation. “Love makes you vulnerable,” she quoted. “I bet you’d do anything to protect your Dominant.” Damned right. Faith had been scared that night. And she’d been right to fear the Mayor. Tara had been kidnapped not long after Faith’s showdown with the Mayor. What had she told him? Something had caused him to pull away. His eyes had flickered for a second. He hadn’t been as confident… Faith closed her eyes and shut the room out.

_“Do you know what would happen if you said anything?”_ The Mayor had taunted her. Faith hated that. It made her mad. Made her do and say stupid shit. That night had been no different.

She’d gotten in his face. Pushed right back. “I told him Tara would fry his ass if she ever found out about him.” Bingo. “That’s when he got nasty and said I better watch out. That something might happen to T.”

Looking at the rest of the gang, Faith summed it up. “The Mayor’s scared of T. Not me. What am I gonna do? Stab him? ‘Cause that shit don’t work.”

“The only one who can answer that is Tara.” Joyce tapped Buffy on the shoulder and gestured for her to scoot over on the couch before taking a seat next to her daughter. “Are you absolutely certain there’s nothing magical that we can do against the Mayor?”

When Tara didn’t say anything, Faith turned and spotted the Tara she’d met at the Winter Social. Head down, hair hiding most of her face. A woman who wouldn’t pose a threat to a toddler. “Th-There’s nothing I c-can do.” Moving like a hundred year-old granny, Tara climbed out of the chair and left the room.

Into the vacuum Tara’s departure left, Willow began to babble. Faith heard every third or fourth word. “…magic…Janna and I…find a spell…don’t need Tara.”

Willow was an arrogant bitch. Faith started to follow Tara and stopped when Buffy took control of the room. “Reach out to Janna’s contacts. See what they have. Giles.”

The harsh sound of his name knocked Giles off whatever cloud he’d been using for a nap. “Yes? I’m afraid I’m no help when it comes to this level of the arcane. I was a mere dabbler in my youth.”

“Our expert said she can’t help, either.” There was a wealth of sympathy in Buffy’s gaze as she looked at Faith for an instant. “Will and Janna have the magic angle. I need you to get the Council back on its feet and working to help us.”

“Have you finally lost your mind?” Giles asked.

With a shrug, Buffy admitted, “Could be. I’m...we’re _all_ working without a net right now, Giles. Crazy Mayor. Murdered Watcher and Slayer. Sub-human men and women running the one group that’s supposed to keep us all organized and alive. I’d say losing my mind is the least of my problems. I need you, Giles. You have a lot of friends in high places. You were the one who told me about all the lectures your father gave you on your sacred duty as a Watcher. How being a Watcher was in your blood. It’s time to use that to our advantage.”


	69. Chapter 69

“It isn’t that simple,” Giles protested. “I cannot wave a hand and undo all of the damage we have wrought to the Council.”

Buffy didn’t give an inch. “Either you can give it a try, or I will. My way involves more broken bones and bloodshed. How long do you think the governments in the cities we aren’t protecting will sit and wait? Do you think _they_ can convince the Council to listen to a bunch of hysterical girls who are too stupid to understand the politics of the situation?” Tone hard and bitter, she continued. “What we’ve done amounts to murder if even a single human dies. And it’s still not as bad as the decisions the Council’s been making for _years_ , Giles.”

Giles stared at Buffy like he’d never seen her before. Maybe he hadn’t. Faith nearly didn’t recognize her fellow Slayer. Buffy had only been the General in the field; Giles had been the one calling the shots in the planning sessions. Today, though, Giles didn’t seem ready to take the field at all.

“It won’t ever get to bloodshed, Buffy.” Willow interrupted Giles’ silent contemplation of Buffy’s challenge. “Janna and I…We already talked it over. If the Council won’t get rid of Travers and make changes, I’ll send all the information we found to the international news outlets. The Council _will_ change, on our terms, or it will no longer exist.”

Giles folded like a house of cards at Willow’s pronouncement. “I will do what I can.”

Faith figured that wouldn’t be much. Giles appeared lost, and even Lydia’s spine had less starch than usual. No matter how much they’d supported Buffy to this point, turning their backs on the Council had pushed them over an edge they hadn’t seen or anticipated.

Luckily, the new additions to the team weren’t British – or as old. They weren’t turning handstands at the shitstorm Buffy had unleashed, but they weren’t falling apart, either. “The Old Guard won’t help you,” Scott said softly. “Not openly. Giles and Lydia are exceptions to the rule, probably because they’ve been in the States for so long. It’s different here; different than in any other country in the world. Marlee and I can get you the backing you need in this region.” A little of Scott’s certainty slipped. “I think.”

“Do what you can.” Buffy had rolled over Giles; she took a softer approach to Scott. “While you’re feeling out the Watchers, see if they’ve got anything on Olvikan. The Council owns every ancient text and piece of crumbling paper with scribbles in the world.”

Scott nodded and reached for Trish’s phone. Marlee dug her cell phone from her purse.

“The rest of you, take a break.” Buffy waved at the room. “We’ve got nothing so far. Unless you’re a computer genius like Will, you’re off duty.”

Off duty. Faith snorted. The only people who moved from their spots on the floor were Trish and Maxie. Scoobies didn’t go off duty. Well, Faith wasn’t an official Scooby. She turned her back on the research and headed toward the bedroom. She needed to check on Tara. Shy Tara had her appeal (Faith loved the shy head-duck and the barely-there smile). Faced with the Mayor and the threat he posed, though, Faith had been expecting – maybe even hoping for - Lady Tara to come roaring out.

As she approached the bedroom door, though, Faith knew Lady Tara wasn’t making an appearance anytime soon. Sobs emanated from the bedroom. Faith slowed. Her hand rested on the door. The sounds from inside pounded at Faith until she winced with every sob. Reluctance and the need to comfort mixed uneasily as she twisted the knob and opened the door.

Tara huddled on the bed, face buried in her pillow.

Faith was across the room, drawn by Tara’s pain. She slipped onto the bed next to Tara and gently wrested the pillow away. “Hey. T…” Faith didn’t know what to do. In the warehouse, she’d acted on instinct. Here in Tara’s bedroom, her instincts were frozen. “It’ll be alright,” she mumbled, feeling stupid. She touched Tara’s arm, trying to get her to look up. To stop huddling in on herself. “I promise.”

Her touch worked. Tara glanced up. Eyes swimming in tears; cheeks puffy and marked by tear tracks. “Go away.” The words were soft and nearly indistinct because of the hitch in Tara’s breathing.

Unfortunately, Faith heard and understood. “No.” Nothing was moving Faith from this spot on the bed. Not even Tara.

“I d-don’t want you he-here.” Every word lashed at Faith.

Blinking against tears of her own, Faith sucked in a deep breath. “I know this is all my fault,” she said. “But I ain’t leavin.’” Turning so that she faced Tara, Faith took Tara’s hand despite Tara’s attempts to pull away. “I fucked up. I kept tellin’ you I wanted out. That I didn’t want the bond.” A tear burned a path down her cheek. “I _lied_ , T. Havin’ you in my head meant you could see shit I never told nobody, and I got scared. Only you wouldn’t go away. It’s like you knew I was full of shit without usin’ the bond.”

Tara’s fingers twitched against Faith’s, tightening for a whole second before straightening out and staying stiff and still.

It gave Faith enough hope to force out the rest of the story. “The day at the club, when you gave me this…” She held her wrist out, and watched Tara bite her lip as Faith showed off the cuff with Tara’s mark. “I forgot to be scared, T. You snuck in. God, nobody ever trusted me the way you did. I didn’t want to leave the club. I wanted to stay right there, holdin’ you.”

Tara was crying again, and that was fine. Faith was crying, too.

“Then I freaked and pushed you away again just in time for the Mayor to start mouthin’ off about how somethin’ might happen to you.” Swiping at her eyes, Faith mumbled, “That’s why I did…why I picked up that guy in the bar. I knew it would hurt ya’ enough to finally walk away. I didn’t want anything to happen to you, T. I’m so fucking sorry that nothin’ I did kept you safe.”

Faith didn’t expect Tara to wrap her in a big hug and forgive her. Not yet. However, she wasn’t ready for the stuttered, “I d-doesn’t matter why. Or th-that you’re sor-rry.” Tara pulled her hand away and reclaimed her pillow. “I w-want you to g-go. Now.”

And suddenly Faith realized that there _was_ something that would convince her to leave the bed. Pain. A deep, never-ending, rending pain that started in her heart and went all the way to her soul. Her shoulders hunched, mirroring Tara’s curled-in posture. It didn’t help the hurt. Not at all. Her eyes dropped to the bedspread. “Yeah. OK,” she whispered.

There was only silence to mark her retreat to the door. With every step, Faith’s hope that Tara would change her mind dwindled. As the door closed behind her, Faith wondered if it symbolized the way her decisions had closed off the chance of even _friendship_ with Tara.

“Faith?” Buffy glanced up as Faith returned to the living room – and her eyes narrowed.

The expression, the reminder that there were people watching her, raked over Faith’s already-tortured nerves. She couldn’t take anymore. Not now. She needed space. Time to think. To make Tara’s rejection make sense. Or hurt less. “I gotta go.” Faith knew she couldn’t _really_ leave. The option for running was gone. She owed Buffy more than she could ever repay; love it or hate it, Faith was bound to the Scoobies now.

“The Mayor’s looking for you,” Buffy reminded her.

“Yeah.” Faith didn’t care. She might even be glad of the excuse to throw down with His Honor. She had to convince Buffy to let her leave the house. They had food. And if starvation was imminent, every restaurant in Sunnydale would deliver carloads of food at a single call from Giles or Joyce. “I got a job,” she said, inspiration striking. The Tiger Cub class would start soon, and Faith knew the dojo stayed open much later for the adults. If she was lucky, she might get a few rounds in with Sam or one of the other upper-belt students.

Buffy’s expression at the announcement would have been priceless if Faith cared. “A job? You work for the Mayor.”

“ _Worked_ ,” Faith snapped. “I _worked_ for the Mayor, damn it!” The brief surge of bitter anger faded, yet still fueled the restlessness deep inside. “T took me to a school in town. Fightin’. Karate. I help out, and I’m supposed to be teachin’ a class tonight.” A tiny lie. “Figure since the rest of ya’ ain’t with the Council no more, I’m the only one gettin’ paid now.” Although, she and Sam had never talked about money. He’d just shoved her onto the mat and left her with the Cubs.

“Take Becky with you.” Buffy held up a hand to forestall any protests. “She’s not there to make sure you don’t run away or go back to the Mayor, Faith. She’s there in case the Mayor sends his friends after you.” She stared Faith down. “Take it or leave it.”

Buffy was such a bitch. Faith considered telling Buffy (and Becky) to fuck themselves, but that would do no good. On many levels. “Let’s go,” she snapped at her “protector”. “I’m already late.”

Giving Becky no time to agree to Buffy’s order, Faith left the house. The sun hadn’t dropped behind the houses. Faith didn’t need Becky. Yet. Unless the Mayor resorted to human thugs like Zajicek, Faith had a little more time before it was dark and she had to worry.

“Do you really teach?” Becky trotted to keep up with Faith’s ground-eating pace.

“Yeah.” Faith didn’t elaborate. Becky would see her pint-sized students soon enough. Then she’d know that Faith wasn’t good enough to teach anyone taller than a garbage can. “Why? You gonna enroll?” Just what Faith needed. A _real_ baby ninja in the ranks of the Cubs. The urge to ditch Becky teased Faith; Becky didn’t know Sunnydale. Faith could easily lose her in an alley.

Lose her and let her get picked off by a vampire or one of the Mayor’s human goons. Faith sighed. Playing for the Good Guys sucked sometimes.

***

The door opened quietly. Tara bit her lip and gathered her resolve. Damn Faith for being so persistent. This would be so much easier if Faith would just leave the way she’d threatened to do in the past.

“Do you want something to eat or drink? Mom said you can’t take more pain meds without food.” It wasn’t Faith hovering near the bed this time. Tara slumped, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment at the realization Buffy had come to visit. “I brought pizza, but Maxie mentioned there’s soup or toast, if you don’t want anything heavy.”

“I’m not hungry.” Nor was Tara ready for more medication. Her back hurt far less than her heart, and popping pills wouldn’t fix her heartbreak.

With a shrug, Buffy indicated her acceptance of Tara’s refusal. “OK. Just be ready for Mean Mom in a bit. She seems all nice and hug-friendly until you do something she considers unsafe or unhealthy. Then the gloves come off.” The words were sincere, as if Buffy had far too much experience with that version of Joyce. “I try to avoid that when I can.”

Buffy sat in the desk chair and took a bite of the pizza. When she saw Tara watching, she grinned. “What? I’m a growing Slayer. Besides, it will take Mom longer to reach the tipping point if she doesn’t see food sitting around uneaten.”

“So you’re just thinking of me?” Tara’s depression lighted enough for her to tease Buffy

“You bet.” The pizza disappeared quickly, and Buffy folded up the flimsy paper plate before dropping it into the small trashcan next to the desk. “Since I’m such a good friend and I’m in a ‘Tara, Tara, Tara’ mode, want to tell me what’s going on with you and Faith? I’ve seen her in a lot of moods. From just a little irritated to all-out ready to kill. In the last few days, though, she’s been more groveling and on her knees. And when she came out of her a little while ago, she looked like you’d ripped her world in half and stomped on it.”

The same way Tara had felt when Faith went up to that man in the bar. Satisfaction coiled inside, and Tara dropped her head in shame. She wasn’t trying to _hurt_ Faith. She was simply letting Faith go, just the way she’d asked.

Right?

Confusion, guilt, exhaustion, pain… Tara couldn’t fight her way free of the messy emotions clogging every inch of her heart and mind.

“Remember the night I took you to Mom’s for the first time?” Tara barely heard Buffy as she continued to talk. “I told you about a friend who’d helped me make a decision about collaring Xan.”

Tara remembered. Sort of. She’d been so upset about what Maxie had said about Faith. Tara stared at the bedspread and remembered that horrible, hurtful conversation. Maxie had told Tara that she and Faith were a terrible match. Maxie had been right. They were too different. Faith wanted something Tara couldn’t give her; something Tara couldn’t give _any_ submissive because she was too afraid. Afraid of Dominating. Afraid of becoming an abuser like her father. Afraid of everything.

“Having Xander in my head scared me to death.” Buffy was still talking, and her words merged seamlessly with Tara’s thoughts.

Scared to death. That’s what Tara had done to Faith. She hadn’t wanted Tara in her head, either.

Standing and pacing, Buffy didn’t seem to realize she was fueling Tara’s determination to walk away from Faith. “He was great. I mean, funny and always making me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. But he was completely human. I’m a Slayer. I might as well have painted a big target on his back and shoved him into the nearest cemetery at night. Every vampire and demon would come after him the second I claimed or collared him.”

That had never crossed Tara’s mind. The dissonance was enough to bring her back to the here and now. She frowned, and Buffy noticed. “What? I’m not really as blonde as my hair.” Her grin was just wry enough to indicate she knew that most people considered her an airhead. “It made sense. And it got way too real when he got hurt.” Her voice grew choked. “It was crazy. He almost died, Tara.”

Drawn to the story in spite of her inner turmoil, Tara murmured, “But he didn’t.”

“No. He was smart enough to go limp when the vamp bit him.” Buffy shrugged. “It didn’t bother him, almost dying. He shrugged it off; told me he was bonded to a Slayer, and that made him ready to face anything. But I wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot.

“I went to Will and…and I leaned on her until she agreed to show me how to block the bond,” Buffy admitted. “Poor Will. She didn’t stand a chance.”

Tara understood. Buffy oozed Dominance without trying. If she’d focused all her will directly on Willow, there was no doubt Buffy would get whatever she wanted.

“It was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I hurt him, Tara. When I closed the bond, when I refused to formally claim him – not because I didn’t love him, but because I was a coward, I nearly destroyed any chance we had at a life together.”

Buffy wandered to the side of the bed and sat down. Voice a whisper of sound, she said, “I know that Faith hurt you, Tara. As much as I hurt Xander. But I think she’s hurting, too. Think about what you really want because if you make a mistake, you might not be able to take it back.” She paused as if gathering enough strength to continue the increasingly personal conversation. “I made a mistake just like that. Without me, without the bond… my decision to close the bond pushed Xander right to the edge of doing something really, really stupid. Something permanent.”

Unable to help herself, Tara reached out and gripped Buffy’s hand. “He didn’t, though, sweetie. He’s here, and it’s clear he loves you.”

“He does.” Only a little of Buffy’s intensity eased. “Lucky for me and Xan, he ran into a friend who helped him deal with what I’d done. Helped him put everything into perspective so he could force me to deal with our problems.” A tight laugh escaped. “Mostly _my_ problems.”

Tara remained silent.

“That friend was Faith.” Turning her hand, Buffy refused to let Tara pull away. “No. You need to hear this. Faith helped Xander – in her very own special way. It pushed my buttons. I almost tore her apart before Xander stepped between us and made me see what was happening between him and me. What I was doing to us. If Faith hadn’t been there, I think I would have walked away from him in some lame attempt to keep him safe.”

It was a crazy story. One Tara didn’t want to believe. Yet…she _did_ remember Buffy talking about a friend who’d helped her and Xander. Faith had done that. She was such a kind and caring person when her defenses weren’t up.

Wiggling their hands until Tara looked up to meet her eyes, Buffy said, “Being a Dominant isn’t always easy. You know that. We make mistakes like I was about to do with Xan. Submissives make mistakes, too. Faith didn’t come to you about the Mayor, and she tried to protect you with that Dom in the club. We have to learn from those mistakes. Learn and find a way to move on. Faith loves you, Tara. Under all the hurt and anger, you know she loves you.

“The night your dad kidnapped you, Faith showed up at Mom’s. She begged, Tara. Dropped to her knees in the entry hall and _begged_ us to help find you. She didn’t know we’d all left the Council. She came to us, even though that meant we could have turned her over to Travers. That’s how much she loves you.”

Blinded by tears, Tara whispered, “I don’t think I’ll survive if she hurts me like that again. I trusted her, Buffy. The first person I’ve ever trusted except Mama.”

“You’d be surprised how strong you are. You’ve never said anything, but… I’m not blind, and I’ve already told you I’m not stupid. That wasn’t the first time your family hurt you. They killed your mother, if Giles’ friend is right. You’d survive. You’d survive and you’d only get stronger. I don’t think that will happen, though. You’re bonded; meant to be together. It won’t be easy.” Buffy broke the somber mood with a grin. “Dominating Faith? How could that ever be easy? Be honest with yourself, Tara. Do you love her? Do you believe that Fate chose the two of you because you’re soulmates? Can you really walk away from that kind of relationship? All because you’re afraid Faith _might_ hurt you again? I can tell Faith needs you. I think you need her right back. You have to decide if loving her is worth the risk.” With a final squeeze to Tara’s hand, Buffy stood and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the very beginning of the Bonds 'verse, I've relied on Lilly the Super Beta to keep this fic going in the right direction and to erase a majority of my crazy typos. For this chapter, Lilly took a bigger role and created most of the scene between Buffy and Tara.


	70. Chapter 70

“You’ve got an audience.” Sam glared at Faith for a moment. “I hired an instructor; not a rock star.”

He was a hoot. Faith smirked right before she spun and waved at the Cubs, who had once again totally enjoyed their session with Faith, lining the mat to watch _her_ get schooled. They all giggled and waved back. “I’m way better than a rock star. I’m a Slayer. I kick evil’s butt.” She was getting better at filtering in front of her mini-ninjas.

“The question of the hour is: can you kick mine?” Sam moved to a corner of the mat farthest away from Faith’s cheering section. “Right now, the only way you can beat me is using your supernatural abilities. With time and practice, you’ll own me with nothing more than human strength and speed. With _all_ your talents on display, that evil you fight will run for their lives.”

“Wicked.” Faith stopped clowning around and got down to business. Stepping away from Sam, she bowed. “Ready when you are.”

Rather than taking a fighting stance, though, Sam bowed back and then said, “We talked about belt testing you. That means we need to get you up to speed on all the required movements.” He glanced past Faith and nodded. “We’ll go through the first few; you can spend the rest of the class practicing.” His lips twitched at her scowl. “You might want to put that away. Your audience needs a good role model, right?”

Sam was a bastard. Faith schooled her expression. “I’m gonna stop playin’ nice when we spar,” she threatened in a soft voice.

“Then I guess the next few classes will all be drill and kill.” Completely unfazed by her comment Sam took a Horse Stance. “Here’s the first move you need to know.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Faith’s arms and legs were Jell-O. Sam was worse than Wes. He’d assigned an upper-belt student to drill Faith – and then he’d settled onto the floor amid the wide-eyed Cubs to watch the show. Faith usually asked _her_ students to do four repetitions of a movement. Faith had done no fewer than twenty of each new movement. Five new movements; twenty repetitions; five sets of each. The math all added up to quivering muscles and a sweat-soaked _gi._ It was a wonder she was still standing.

“Not bad.” Faith’s instructor for the night offered her a towel. “I used to think being a Slayer would rule. All that power. If this is what your classes will be like, I’m glad to be normal.” Faith nodded in agreement. Right now, normal sounded fine. “Make sure you walk through those moves again tonight and do a few reps every day. It helps the muscle memory.”

Faith would be lucky to lift her hands above her waist later. The brown belt was right, though. She’d heard Giles and Diana and a million other Watchers say the same thing. “Thanks. I’ll do that.” Maybe she could show Tara the new moves, too. Get Tara ready for _her_ next class.

A new ache joined the scream from Faith’s muscles. Tara wasn’t coming back to the dojo, and she wasn’t learning anything from Faith. Not anymore. Faith bowed herself off the mat, all the peace and contentment from the class gone.

Becky was at her side instantly. “Ready to roll? ‘Cause I’m starving.”

“Why? You burn too much energy sittin’ on the sidelines?” Faith snapped. Jesus, why did she have this kid glued to her side? She didn’t need a bodyguard.

“Duh. Are you really a Slayer? I burn calories _breathing_.” Becky dodged one of Faith’s loyal entourage and tried to drag Faith out the door. “Tell me there are restaurants in Sunnydale. Something other than pizza. I’m really not a pizza fan, and that’s all your crew seems to eat. That and doughnuts.”

Now it was Faith’s turn to scoff. “How can you call yourself a Slayer? Not like pizza? It ain’t natural.”

One of the Cubs piped up. “I love pizza, Miss Faith.”

Faith gave him a high five. “See? My Cubs know the score. What’s your problem, kid? Too good for pizza? Ain’t it got all the food groups in it?” Like she remembered (or even cared) about nutrition. Another bonus to being a Slayer.

Becky’s scowl lacked punch. Of course, the kid wasn’t a Dominant. She didn’t even have Willow’s Resolve Face.

“Whatever. You don’t like pizza, you better speak up. Scoobies live on pizza and doughnuts like you said. We maybe get Chinese, if Red’s makin’ the call.” Faith waved to a few more Cubs and ducked into the changing room. Becky was right behind her. “Fuck! You wanna give me some space?”

With a dramatic sigh, Becky turned around. “Better?”

“No. I don’t think we gotta worry about the Mayor or the Council poppin’ up behind the coats and shit in here.” Not unless they really loved the funky smell of sweaty workout gear.

“Buffy said stay with you. As hungry as I get when I breathe, I still like doing it. She’s _scary_. Way scarier than Marlee.” Rocking on her heels, Becky said, “Or your Domme.” Oh, yeah. Faith understood that. “If you come back with a hangnail…”

Fine. “Just shut up and let me get dressed. Then we’ll feed ya’ and head home.” More than muscle fatigue suddenly dragged at Faith. Tara was at home, and she had all but thrown Faith out. Out of her heart and mind.

It was dark when they exited the dojo, and the cool breeze was cold where Faith’s sweat-damp hair rested against her neck. The chill was nothing compared to the ice spreading _inside_ Faith’s body.

“I don’t feel anything. No vampires or demons. Is that normal? Sunnydale has a Hellmouth.” Becky was worse than Willow. All the kid did was talk. Ignoring Faith’s lack of response, Becky jostled Faith’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothin’,” Faith mumbled. _Everything_ was wrong, though. All the things that mattered. Tara hated her.

She could nearly feel Becky’s disbelief. “Really? ‘Cause it looks like I kicked one of your Cubs. Come on! So the Council hates you. They hate a lot of us apparently. And maybe your ex-boss wants to be a demon. No one saw that coming, and, hey! The good people of Sunnydale voted for him. They must have thought he was a standup guy.”

Faith didn’t care about any of that. Not really. Well, she cared about all of it; it simply wasn’t on the same level of “care” as losing Tara. She’d gone to Buffy and her crew to save Tara in the first place. She’d risked life and limb to fight off the vamps and then steal the Books, too. She’d apologized on her knees. None of it had been enough.

What would happen now? Repudiation. That was the first step Tara would take. She’d make it official. Cut Faith loose. The block on the bond would be permanent, and the conduit would disappear completely over time. Faith would lose the last bit of Tara she possessed.

She slowed and then stopped completely in the middle of the sidewalk.

Her personal walking, talking bodyguard stopped, too. “Did you see something?” Becky spun in a circle, peering at every car and person on the street.

“Ya’ mean like the FBI tail that’s been followin’ us since we left Trish’s?” Faith grabbed Becky by her jacket collar and dragged her down the street. Standing in one place wasn’t going to fix her problems. Pushing Becky into traffic might offer a moment of amusement, though. The kid was a complete innocent. Like she’d never left the HQ or House where she’d been assigned. A Cub with more talent and the same amount of experience. “Guess they think you need backup to keep me alive.”

When Becky scowled, Faith managed a laugh despite her lingering gloomy thoughts. “Don’t worry about it. If the Mayor comes after me, the Feds’ll still be in the car when the actions over.” Trick would send only his best after a Slayer. Steering away from that because Becky was jumpy enough, Faith asked, “Burgers OK? The DMP’s not far.” The only other fast food place sold “healthy” food; no Slayer alive would eat there by choice.

“Burgers are fine.” Becky didn’t sound thrilled, though. “This place is like the back of beyond. At home, there are dozens of places to eat right around the corner from the HQ. My favorite place is this little sushi bar…”

The words droned on and on. Sushi. Pad Thai. Couscous. Who cared? Faith could have picked dozens of restaurants in Boston as a kid, too (if she’d had money). That didn’t mean she thought it was any less of a hole than Sunnydale. Food was food. Unless it was Tara’s pancakes.

She smiled, remembering their one breakfast together. Fuck if she was going to give up on the chance to do that again. The smile morphed into Slayer Game Face. Tara might be her Dominant, but she didn’t know everything. Tara was wrong. Tara didn’t really want Faith to go away; getting the shit kicked out of you messed with your head. Faith was an expert in that.

Faith was also an expert in making crappy choices. Her most recent choice at the club had pushed Tara past the breaking point. Apologizing hadn’t worked. Turning every bit of guile and tenaciousness at her disposal to the problem, Faith followed Becky into the DMP. She’d been there thousands of times since arriving in Sunnydale. The echoing voices, running kids, and the smell of ancient grease didn’t faze her.

“Tell the kid behind the counter you want the usual House order,” she murmured to Becky. “Add whatever you and your crew might want and add a couple of meals for Trish and Maxie.” Turning a blind eye to Becky’s outrage at her brusque commands, Faith took a spot against the condiment counter and waited.

She was out of options with Tara. Begging hadn’t done the trick. Neither had the Books. Another apology seemed pointless. Maybe it was time to make one last, desperate pitch. Throw herself at Tara and let nature take its course. They’d been smoking hot together in her apartment.

A shadow interrupted the glare of the overhead lights, and Faith looked up. “Excuse me,” the male Dominant said quietly. “I just need some extra ketchup packets.” His easy grin struck Faith hard; pushed her off balance. She couldn’t muster a return smile. “My daughter has a tantrum if I make her use ‘regular’ bottled ketchup.”

With a strangled sound, Faith scuttled away. This Dominant. He’d been at the House. The first time Faith had been sentenced to judicial punishment in Sunnydale. This Dominant had been the one swinging the paddle. His large hands had dwarfed the hardwood implement. She’d stared at his hands, then at the paddle, not really hearing the lecture. “Gotta use the good stuff,” she choked out.

Grabbing a handful of ketchup packets, the Dominant remained silent for a whole minute. It was longer than Faith expected and yet not nearly long enough. “I’m glad we finally met outside of the Slayer House. I’ve heard so much about you. My daughter even has a scrapbook of newspaper articles about you and Slayer Summers.” He held out his empty hand and patiently waited until Faith shook it. “I’m Barry.”

“Faith.” Like he didn’t already know that. Skin crawling, Faith would have run for the door if Becky hadn’t still been waiting in line to order. She _did_ reclaim her hand as quickly as possible. How could this Dominant…Barry be so casual? He’d seen her bent and chained over a fucking spanking bench. Read the list of “infractions” the Council had sent. He knew Faith wasn’t a Slayer his kid should build a scrapbook around.

The Twilight Zone conversation continued. Barry waved at a collared man and little girl at a back booth before holding up a single finger. “If I don’t get this ketchup to the table soon, it’ll be screams for sure.” Barry’s grin was wry. “My first graders have better manners. Stillman blames it all on me; says I’m a pushover.”

He laughed at Faith’s involuntary snort of disbelief. Barry hadn’t been a pushover when he’d been at the House that night. “Could I convince you to come by the school one day? The kids would love it. Until then, can you give my daughter a wave?” She automatically waved at the little girl, who grinned and waved back, just like her Cubs from earlier. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a battered wallet. “Here’s my card. Just call or email if you’re interested.” With a final smile, he hurried to his family.

Faith stared after him until Becky staggered up loaded down with bags and bags of food. “We need to hurry. The smell is killing me, and I don’t have a hand free to actually _eat_ anything.”

For half a second, Faith considered helping with the bags. “Let me show ya’ a shortcut,” she said instead. Leading the way outside, she walked up to a parked car and tapped on the window. “It’s late. I’m tired, and the kid’s got a ton of food.”

The window slid down and a beefy male agent glared through the opening. “I’m not a taxi service.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Faith wasn’t in the mood to play games. “You ain’t gonna be much of a bodyguard either this time of night. Anybody comes after us, the action’ll be over and you’ll still be tryin’ to open the door and climb out.”

The agent was a sore loser. He didn’t have the same iron control Briggs had used on Faith. He openly grumbled about arrogant Slayers and protective details. “Get in,” he finally said, and Faith heard the door locks disengage.

Faith was nice enough to open the door and help Becky with the bags. Of course, Becky didn’t thank her. She was too busy munching from a carton of fries as they climbed into the car. Faith had better manners. “Thanks. Figured the kid would be a walking Happy Meal all loaded down. And Giles’d make me fill out tons of paperwork for lettin’ her get killed.”

Killed. Faith paled as her joking comment brought back grisly images of Wes, Kendra, and Finch.

Even as pissed as he was, the agent must have seen something in Faith’s expression. The car stayed parked, and the agent kept his eyes on Faith in the rearview mirror. “She had you. I saw the last part of the fight in that warehouse. She and dinner would have been fine.”

Pushing the images back, Faith met the agent’s eyes. “That’s me. Evil killin’ machine.” She stole a few fries right out of Becky’s hand and ate them. “Get the lead out. Cold fries suck. And if you think _I’m_ a grumpy bitch, you ain’t met B when she’s waiting on a meal.” She silently dared him to call her on her attitude.

Her comments didn’t completely convince the agent things were back to normal. However, he did at least put the car into gear and pull away from the curb. She also remained quiet for once. Faith used the time to brood. They were headed back to Trish’s, and Faith was no closer to a solution to her Tara Trouble than before.

It didn’t take long to reach the house. There were even more cars in the driveway than before. Great. One of the vehicles was Monica’s. Faith’s day kept getting better and better. If things with Tara didn’t improve, at least she could pick a fight with Trish’s bitchy friend. She grabbed a few bags of food, grunted another thanks at the agent, and trudged to the front door. Her stomach cramped with every step.

Becky sailed through the door. “Dinner’s served!”

People (OK, the Slayers) scrambled up from the floor and couches. The living room was a disaster. The house was comfortable for four adult women, but it was completely inadequate for the throng of researchers in residence. Faith recognized Monica and Drew as well as the regular Scoobies and the four Council transplants.

The rest were new. Three more kids even younger than Becky, and three more Watchers. Two of them had to be British. Faith didn’t even need to hear them talk to know. One actually had Tweed patches on the elbows of his jacket and the other clutched a mug of Earl Grey. Faith recognized the distinctive scent from morning briefings with Giles. The third Watcher was young. Maybe mid-twenties and scruffy.

None of the new people mattered. After that all-encompassing glance, Faith ignored them. Tara was back. She was curled against pillows at one end of the couch. Faith took an automatic step in that direction before changing course. She needed to dump the food in the kitchen before discovering if Tara had changed her mind about repudiating Faith.

“The DMP?” Buffy grabbed two Double-Meat Medleys and a plateful of fries. “We still had pizza left.”

“The baby bodyguard you gave me don’t like pizza.” Faith snagged one of the two salads in the pile of food. Janna and Willow usually ate the green shit, but Faith was willing to bet Tara would prefer a salad to greasy mystery meat. She should probably wait for Tara to make the first move. Unfortunately, Faith wasn’t patient enough for that.

Balancing the salad and her own Double-Meat Medley, Faith pushed her way through the bodies lined up in the tiny kitchen. “Thought you could use somethin’ to eat.” She set the salad container on Tara’s lap. The plastic-wrapped fork and napkin as well as the packet of dressing went on the couch next to Tara’s thigh. Faith slumped to the floor and leaned against Tara’s legs to eat her own food.

She tried not to be obvious as she waited…and waited for Tara to say something or touch her. There was no way she could hide her shudder when Tara’s fingers brushed the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“You’re welcome.” A spark of warmth lit Faith’s mind. Enough to give her hope; not enough to give her the courage to kneel rather that sit at Tara’s feet.

The fingers faltered in their caress then disappeared. Shivering convulsively, Faith pushed her food away. She wasn’t hungry any more. It was like before. When she’d brought the Books. Tara was there, yet…not there. Faith would have wallowed in tears if she could summon the energy for them. Instead, she sat and let the bustle of a research party go on without her. Books, burgers, and bickering. Nothing penetrated.

Her eyes drifted shut. She wasn’t helping with the research and watching the normal Scooby interactions didn’t help her frame of mind. What was she missing? Buffy had nearly shut Xander out of their link, and they were planning a collaring ceremony. Willow broke more rules – actual _laws_ – than Faith had ever dreamed of. Yet she and Janna hung all over each other. Faith cracked an eye to be sure. Yep. Willow was plopped in Janna’s lap, tongue peeking out as she concentrated on her laptop.

Hiding behind closed eyes again, Faith let her mind wander.

_“Why do you insist on pushing boundaries, Faith?” Diana didn’t appear too concerned with the answer as she paced back and forth in front of Faith in the small holding cell. “Have I not tried to instill in you an understanding of proper behavior?”_

_Proper behavior. Never going out. Never having any fun. Faith struggled against the cuffs holding her in the chair set in the middle of the room._

_“You have never even **tried** to act as a model Slayer.” Stopping in front of Faith, Diana narrowed her eyes. “Many of the Watcher staff here have urged leniency. Your background, they say, provided you no true foundation for behaving civilly.”_

So Faith had never been good enough. Or “proper” the way the Council had wanted. Tara had never seemed to care about that. In fact, she’d told Faith to never change. Tara had supported Faith against Wes even before Faith knew about the bond; had dared Wes to do his worst when he’d shown up on Trish’s doorstep.

If Faith’s background and attitude weren’t the problem…

_“Sorry is not enough, **drag**_ **_ᾰ_ ** _.” Janna crossed her arms and regarded Willow sternly. “Have we not spoken of these ‘homemade’ spells before?”_

_Willow nodded and her head hung so low that she looked like a turtle ducking into its shell._

_“I asked you a question, Willow. I expect that you will answer me with more than the motion of your head!” Janna’s accent was thicker than Faith had ever heard it. Not to mention her Dominance hung like a cloud in the room. Faith inched back until she bumped into the archway leading into the hall._

_“Yes, **Doamn**_ **_ᾰ_ ** _. We…We talked about it.” Glancing up with teary eyes, Willow searched for Xander. “I’m sorry, Xan. I just wanted…You said…” For once, the flow of words was missing. Willow sniffed. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”_

That little spell had cost Willow dearly. Janna had borrowed Giles’ office for the non-judicial punishment, and the crisp slap of leather against flesh and Willow’s cries and pleas for mercy had filled the House. Faith hadn’t (thankfully) been a witness to the strapping. Xander had been, and he’d still been crying when Buffy had ushered him out of the House an hour later.

Faith frowned. Willow had winced every time she sat down for the next couple of days, but… Janna had kissed her more than usual. Cuddled her. It had burned Faith’s ass, watching them. She and Barry had had _their_ date in the basement the week before. No one had fawned all over _her_ afterward.

Or…had they tried and Faith hadn’t let them? Had she misread _everything_? The same way she had with Buffy and Giles’ support against the Council? She was such a moron. The next wave of memories engulfed her.

_“Give us some space.” The Dominant pushed past the Retrieval Team goon and unfastened the lock near Faith’s right wrist himself. “In fact, stand outside. The official part of this is over. If I need your help, I’ll scream like a little girl.” His hands brushed Faith’s shoulder. “Hang on. It won’t be long.”_

_Was he talking to **her**? Faith twisted against the stock still holding her down over the bench._

_“Easy. Come on, Faith. Just give me a minute.” The man’s voice was soft and probably supposed to be soothing. “As soon as I get you free, I’ll hold you. I promise. We’ll talk and cry it all out and then it will be over.”_

Talk and cry until it was over. Barry hadn’t been angry with her that night. He’d wanted to cuddle her the way Janna had cuddled Willow. Now that Faith was remembering more clearly, she also recalled how Barry had stepped back like she’d slugged him when she told him to take his talking and holding and fuck himself with it.

It really hadn’t been her finest moment. Faith had had a lot of not so “fine” moments. Had she missed out on something when she’d refused Barry? Or when she’d refused to listen to Janna, who had basically apologized for punishing her that last time? Hell, she’d offered to _help_ Faith. Not that Faith had been ready to listen.

Really unhappy with this line of thought, Faith shifted until she was plastered against Tara’s legs. There was a theme Faith was beginning to recognize. Punishment and talking/cuddling after somehow equaled “all over.”

Buffy’s impatient voice the day after Faith’s last judicial punishment drove the point home. _“You pout and glower. The session’s over. Learn from it and move on.”_ Like Janna, she’d tried to get Faith to talk. Tried to be Faith’s friend. Tried to get Faith to see that no one held whatever stupid thing she’d done against her once she’d had the crap beaten out of her.

Did Tara feel that way, too? Would Tara forgive Faith taunting her with Zajicek in the bar if Faith brought her a cane? No, not a cane. Canes were on Tara’s limit list. She’d told Faith that the day they’d been together in Faith’s apartment. Tara didn’t want anything that would leave permanent marks.

There were a lot of implements that didn’t leave scars. Faith opened her eyes. No one had moved during her heavy thinking. Food, books, and bodies covered the living room and every piece of furniture. And, with the exception of the new Slayers and Watchers, Faith had hurt every single member of the team in one way or another.

They’d all have to be here when…when she begged Tara to punish her. Faith had trouble getting her arms and legs to work. All her energy was gone. In its place was a sick, sinking feeling. A weird pressure in her chest. Faith gave up on standing. If she managed to get to her feet, she’d probably fall right back down. Instead, she got on her knees and touched Tara’s leg lightly with one hand.

Tara immediately glanced at her.

It was now or never. Fuck, Faith wished it was never, but she needed Tara more than she wanted to avoid what came next. “I…I’m sorry.” Her voice came out funny. All squeaky and high-pitched like a chipmunk. She cleared her throat, face burning. “I’m sorry, Tara.” That was better. Way too hesitant and scared; at least Tara would know it was Faith talking, though. “For askin’ you to close off the bond. For saying I didn’t want to stay with you. For…” Crap. Faith couldn’t keep looking into Tara’s eyes. They’d darkened, and Tara was blinking back tears. Crap. Crap. Crap. Staring at Tara’s knees, Faith kept going. “I’m sorry for pickin’ up the Mayor’s stooge in the bar and not tellin’ you about the threats.”

She sensed Tara about to say something. Probably another empty comment on how things were fine. They weren’t fucking fine!

Faith wanted things to be fine. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked again, and this time Faith let it go. She had to say her piece before Tara interrupted. “Please…please punish me.” She should probably say more. Be more specific. Beg. But Faith couldn’t do it. Her lips and hand were suddenly freezing while the rest of her body had heated like she’d lit a match under her skin.

Glancing up, she noticed that Tara had lost what little color she’d had since the rescue at the warehouse. Faith straightened, ready to grab her if she fainted. “No,” Tara whispered.

No. Tara couldn’t say no. This was the last chance Faith had to make her mistakes right. “Please, Tara. I want…” That wasn’t right. She sure as fuck didn’t _want_ Tara to…do whatever Tara decided to do. “I need you to punish me.” Not much better but at least it felt right. Faith needed Tara to clean the slate, by whatever means necessary.

Appearing mulish, Tara glared down at Faith. Anger brought some of her color back. Two bright red spots on each of Tara’s cheeks. “Faith.” Nothing else. Just Faith’s name.

Faith refused to move or breathe. She _willed_ Tara to give in.

Little by little, Faith saw Tara change. First the shadows slipped from Tara’s eyes, replaced with bright, cold blue. Faith’s favorite blue. Then one eyebrow rose. Faith shivered at that. Definitely a mean, evil Dominant trick, that eyebrow thing. Finally, Tara’s fingers gripped Faith’s chin, ensuring that she had to meet Tara’s eyes. “It is a Dominant’s duty to give their submissive what they need,” she said softly.

Was that a yes? Faith didn’t ask. She waited to see what Tara would do next.

The fingers under Faith’s chin shifted until they stroked her throat and cheeks. “My beautiful Slayer.” The words wrapped around Faith, warming her all the way through. “Please kneel in the corner, Faith, until I call for you.” Tara’s eyes were cold and warm all at the same time. They pushed Faith to her feet as terror tried to swamp the pleasure of Tara’s praise. “I’m right here. I will always be right here. Now go.” A gentle shove got Faith’s feet moving.

She walked woodenly to “the” corner. The only one free of furniture or Trish and Maxie’s stuff. The same one Faith had used to hold the quarter. Dropping to her knees, she took the posture Tara had taught her in the apartment and stared at the wall.

People moved. Faith recognized the squeak of chairs and the shuffle of feet. She vaguely heard Tara’s voice. Thanking Buffy? Probably for helping to rescue her. Doors closed. The bedrooms _and_ the front door. She heard the rumble of an engine in the drive. As the seconds turned into minutes, Faith fought to stay in position. In the corner. Tara’s gaze felt two warm hands on her shoulders, though, helping her remain.

“Come here, Faith.” Tara’s command lifted the invisible hands holding Faith in place. It did _not_ slow the thunder of Faith’s heartbeat or ease the fear threatening to send her running for the door. Tara’s _real_ hand, outstretched and waiting for Faith to take it, though, did. Faith floated across the room and gripped that hand like a lifeline as she dropped to her knees. Tara’s quicksilver half-smile appeared and a twinkle broke the cool blue of her eyes for a moment. “I’m so proud of you, Faith.” As quickly as the smile appeared, it slipped away. Tara was all Dominant. “Now, tell me why I am punishing you.”

Faith instinctively pulled away, until only the tips of her fingers rested in Tara’s hand. “I do stupid things,” she mumbled.

“No,” Tara was quick to disagree. Her eyes held Faith captive. So bright. So blue. So…everything. “Tell me why I am punishing you,” she repeated implacably.

“I lied to you.” As she knelt in front of Tara, Faith was completely honest this time. “About how I felt about the bond. About you. I didn’t tell you about the Mayor. I could have. I could have told you about the ritual and the way he told me he’d hurt you.” Her head dipped until her forehead nearly rested on Tara’s thigh. “Instead, I let Zajicek whip me in the club.” A sob tried to choke Faith, and her next breath was more hiccup than inhale. “I did it because I knew it would hurt you and make you leave me. If…If we weren’t together, I figured the Mayor would come after me; not you.”

Tara’s free hand combed through Faith’s hair. “You’ve told me you’re sorry for all those things. Why are we here?”

“Because telling you ain’t enough!” Faith shouted. She dragged her eyes up, perilously close to tears. “Because I need…I need you to forgive me. For real.”

“If I do this, you believe I will forgive you?” Tara said is a strained whisper.

Faith wasn’t sure, but it was her last option. She needed to believe. “Yes,” she answered.

Closing her eyes as if in pain (and she had to be, Faith realized, her guilt and remorse deepening), Tara sat back against the couch. “Please remove all of your clothing, Faith.” Although still tight with tension, Tara’s words were clear and controlled.

Standing was maybe the hardest thing Faith had ever done. She’d asked for this. Begged. Reality was a punch to the gut. There was no one here to force her to disrobe. No one gripped her arms or moved her like a rag doll. Tara had given Faith a request, and _Faith_ had to fulfil it all on her own. Fingers suddenly uncooperative, all coordination gone, Faith fought to unbuckle her belt and unzip her jeans. She staggered and nearly fell removing her boots.

That was bad enough. Pushing her jeans and underwear off. Removing her shirt and bra. Faith was naked in a way she’d never been before. She wanted to cross her arms and cover herself from Tara’s sharp, steady gaze.

“Good girl, my Slayer.” Tara unbent enough to smile as she patted her lap. “Lay down right here.”

Glaciers probably moved faster than Faith. Bending over Tara’s lap was awkward – and embarrassing. The couch supported her, but her ass was just as vulnerable as if Tara had used a spanking bench. Warm hands caressed her back and butt in smooth, soothing strokes. “I’m so very proud of you, Faith. I know this isn’t easy. I know you’re scared, sweetie. We’ll get through this together. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

Tara had magic hands and an even more powerful voice. Faith’s muscles and bones turned to water under Tara’s care.

“Why did you lie to me, Faith?” Tara’s hands lifted a split second before one of them landed with a _pop_ on Faith’s right butt cheek.

The sting was minimal. A joke compared to Faith’s previous punishments or the beatings she’d endured as a whore in Boston. The question, though, took her breath away. She sucked in air around tightness in her throat and jumped when Tara spanked her again. “I asked you a question, Faith. Why did you lie to me?”

“I…I don’t…I never…” Faith didn’t know how to put her fears into words.

“When you told me that you didn’t want the bond, you hurt me, Faith.” Tara’s next swat was harder. Still barely a love tap but a clear indication that Tara wasn’t happy with Faith’s actions. “Did you want to hurt me, Faith?”

“No!” That was an easy question. “I never wanted to hurt you.” She had, though. When Tara spanked her again, Faith felt the blow in her heart. She’d hurt the one person who had been her friend. The only person to look past her attitude and behavior and keep coming back for more. The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over.

Tara continued to spank Faith with a terrible, monotonous rhythm. Each time her hand landed, it resounded through Faith’s soul. Faith wanted to get up, to run, to hide. She didn’t. She’d earned this and more. She’d hurt Tara. Tara needed to hurt her back.

“If you didn’t want to hurt me, Faith, why did you lie?” Tara was merciless.

Faith wiggled on Tara’s lap as if that would allow her to avoid the question. It didn’t. Faith knew Tara would continue to spank and to ask until she answered. Voice tiny and muffled by the couch, she said, “I was scared.”

The spanking paused while Tara caressed the back of Faith’s head. “You knew I loved you, my Slayer. Why were you scared?”

Love. Faith wanted to laugh. What did she know about love? Instead, she tilted her head into Tara’s hand. “The bond would let you see everything. All the shit I’d done. You’d _know_ …” She couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t admit what she’d been and done in Boston. “You’d know,” she repeated.

“The bond would let you know about my past, too, sweetie.” Tara sniffed, and Faith looked up to see that she was crying as well. “I trusted you, Faith. I told you things I’d never told anyone about my father.”

Faith knew another swat was coming. She saw Tara’s hand lift and didn’t look away. She deserved this. “You hurt me _so much_ , Faith.” The spank landed with more heat and muscle than before – and something in Faith shattered.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Faith repeated her very real remorse in between throat-tearing sobs.

_“Oh, sweetie. I know.”_ Tara’s mental voice echoed in Faith’s mind. She pulled Faith up into a sitting position on her lap and engulfed Faith in a hug that was both mental and physical. _“It’s OK, Faith. We’ll be OK. I forgive you, my Slayer.”_


	71. Chapter 71

The living room was quiet. Faith closed her eyes and let it settle around her. It matched the utter silence in her mind. All the worry and the guilt; the driving need to find a way to apologize. Gone. The Mayor? Gone, too. She floated on a cloud of nothing. No thoughts, no emotions.

Faith was strangely free in her cloud.

A second or a lifetime later, a little reality crept in. Faith felt the weight of Tara’s arms wrapped loosely around her. Enjoyed the soft brush of Tara’s breath on her cheek and neck. For the first time since the night on the roof, the bond…wasn’t locked. The mental “door” was closed, but Faith knew it would open if she reached for it. Contentment – maybe actual happiness – tinged her light-as-air emotional cloud.

Should she move? Faith didn’t want to move. Tara wasn’t moving. She’d stay still for now. Just a little while longer. A minute. Maybe two. More time floated by. Snuggled with her head against Tara’s shoulder, Faith idly wondered why she wasn’t restless and ready to flee. Then she realized the question was stupid. Who cared why? Tara’s lap was comfortable and her arms were warm. Those were the important things.

A soft kiss finally interrupted Faith’s floating. Glancing up, she saw Tara watching her with tired, red-rimmed eyes. “Ya’ look like shit,” Faith said, voice rougher than normal from all the crying.

Those eyes widened – and then narrowed. Faith didn’t worry about the suddenly icy chill in Tara’s gaze. Not when her favorite smile showed. “That wasn’t very nice, sweetie. Just because I can’t be as sexy as you…”

“Crazy witch.” Faith raised a hand (it took effort since her limbs were so leaden) and brushed a finger over Tara’s soft lips. “You’re all kinds of sexy. Beautiful, too.” Faith shivered as she continued to stroke and trace Tara’s lips and face. “Thought that at the Social when ya’ got all up in your Domme.” She grinned at the memory. “Think all them books on Dominance worked. You’d roll right over _that_ Tara.”

“A napkin would out-Dominate _that_ Tara. Trish bullied me into going to that party. ‘You can’t hide away in your dorm room all the time.’ She even threatened to sic Maxie on me.” The humor left Tara’s voice, replaced with self-deprecation. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize I was faking it. Dominance? Hardly. I was so scared that night.” Tara shifted and winced.

Although she really wanted to hear the story, Faith wiggled out of Tara’s arms and stood. “You take your meds?” She didn’t need Willow’s genius to figure out the answer as Tara avoided Faith’s glare. “You got a problem, doncha? Givin’ me orders and getting all Toppy when _you_ suck at followin’ directions. I oughta tell Mrs. S. Bet you won’t ignore her.” Even Buffy caved to Joyce.

“Don’t you dare!” Tara tried to glower but failed miserably. The grumpy expression morphed into an enormous yawn.

Faith raised an eyebrow in mockery. “You gonna stop me?”

Yawn or not, Tara’s eyebrow kicked Faith’s eyebrow in the ass. Faith swallowed hard and dipped her chin as that eyebrow rose over a frosty blue eye. “Of course I will. As you once pointed out to me, I _am_ the Dominant, my Faith. I think that gives me a little more control of the situation. Sit back down. I’m not ready to lose my armful of Slayer yet.”

Melting a little at that, Faith managed to hold onto a portion of her backbone. Tara needed to see reason. “Pills first.”

Her attempt at negotiation failed. Tara didn’t move – except to sigh dramatically and deliberately lean farther back against the couch. “Pills after. Plus icepacks. One for my back and the other for my hand.” She held out her right hand, palm up. “You, my Slayer, have a very hard butt.”

The complaint was so unexpected that Faith forgot to be stern and unhappy. Chuckling, she very carefully climbed back onto Tara’s lap. “Musta been that ‘Buns of Steel’ workout tape Buffy smuggled into the House. Have to use something harder the next time ya’ got me ass up.”

“We’ll start a limit list and contract.” Somehow, Faith knew Tara wasn’t as calm and confident in that statement as her voice and expression indicated. Gut instinct? Or the tiniest flutter of worry through the link? Either way, Faith would call Tara on her little lie later. If _Faith_ couldn’t lie, neither could the woman holding her. “At the top of the list: No saying my sexy Slayer is stupid, pathetic, worthless, or a loser.” _Now_ Tara was truly confident. “Did I miss any adjectives, sweetie?”

“Uh…” Faith squirmed under Tara’s cool gaze. “Can’t remember anything else.” Taking Tara’s hand and kissing the much-abused palm allowed her to avoid Tara’s eyes. She didn’t get why those kinds of comments twisted Tara up so badly. But she had no doubt they did. Tara had been on her case from the beginning for that. “You gonna use a paddle if I say somethin’ you don’t like?”

Rather than answer, Tara turned the tables. “Will I need to?”

All of a sudden, Faith remembered the way it felt to fail Tara. The tight band around her chest. The crushing weight of Tara’s disappointment. Reality warred with a desire to _never_ go through that again.

Tara saved her as usual. “I told you the night I claimed you, Faith. Don’t ever change. I love _you_.” How did Tara say that so easily? With such a depth of meaning? “I love everything about you, especially the way you say exactly what you think. We’ll work on your self-worth together.”

“Why?” The question slipped out. Faith hadn’t meant to say anything.

“Because you’re worth it,” Tara answered with such rock-solid certainty that Faith could _almost_ believe her. “As for punishment…” She waited until Faith glanced up. “The Council had it wrong, sweetie. Breaking rules isn’t always about being ‘bad’ or a horrible person. Sometimes, it’s about things that have nothing to do with rulebooks and laws. How about we agree to talk about whatever choices you’ve made first? So we can both understand _why_ you made that choice and what other options you may have had.”

Faith stared at Tara in confusion. Why would they talk about shit like that? Then she remembered Tara’s implacable demand before the spanking. She grappled with concept and tried to piece it all together. “You mean I gotta tell you _why_ you’re punishing me.” That was somehow worse than anything Faith had endured, including Zajicek’s whip.

Her disgruntled comment drew a giggle from Tara. “Not exactly.” Tara didn’t offer to explain the difference between what _she’d_ said and Faith’s interpretation. “I love you, Faith.” The admission wasn’t connected to their previous conversation. Yet it captured Faith’s complete attention as Tara went on. “You mentioned the Social. It was the first time I’d been out like that since leaving home.”

“Was that why you were scared?” Faith snorted. “No one woulda hurt you. All the Slayers cared about was the food. And the Tweed Crew was stuck in one corner bitching about bad tea.”

Tara didn’t agree with her, though. “There were witches there.” Faith felt Tara shrink beneath her. “My f-father might l-look for me where there was mag-gic.”

“He ain’t never gonna find you again,” Faith said immediately. “Brooks and the FBI dragged him and Junior away in cuffs – not the comfy kind.” She reached up and cupped Tara’s cheek, tilting Tara’s chin back up where it belonged. “You don’t need to worry about your pop anymore.”

A tiny smile caused Tara’s lips to brush Faith’s palm. “I didn’t know back then that I’d have you to protect me.”

Faith let the compliment wash over her but wanted to protest. She hadn’t managed to save Wes or Kendra. And she Tara should never have been alone on the sidewalk by the doughnut shop.

“Shh! It’s over, my Faith.” Tara kissed Faith’s palm again. “It’s forgiven and forgotten. You’re here now, and I’ve never felt safer. More cherished.”

***

Those warm brown eyes remained dark, like rich coffee and not the melted chocolate Tara adored. “Safer, huh?” Faith nodded agreement with her own comment. “You are. I ain’t lettin’ no one hurt you again. Not your family. Not me.” Taking Tara by surprise, she stood up. “Not even this stubborn witch I know. You don’t need to be sittin’ on the couch. You got this funny line on your forehead and I can see your jaw from where you’re clenching your teeth.”

Goddess damn it! Tara refused to admit Faith was right. She held very still, continuing to ignore the way the couch pressed the fabric of her shirt against the bandaged cuts on her back.

Faith wouldn’t go away, though. She stood resolutely in front of Tara. Maintaining eye contact, her lower lip slid out in an overdone pout. “Please, Tara? Will you go to the bedroom and lay down? Take some pain meds? For me?”

There was no doubt about it. Faith was evil. And sexy. And completely adorable when she pouted like that. Tara’s willpower wavered.

Then Faith performed the _coup de gr_ _âce_. “I’ll let ya’ cuddle against me as long as ya’ want. Even…Even tell ya’ about Boston.”

It was too much for Tara to resist. Of course, she tried to keep up the fiction that she was in charge. “Please take me to bed, my Slayer.” Faith’s dimples gave the lie to Tara’s “control” of their current situation. Oh, well. Tara could afford to lose this once. As long as Faith continued to smile and to care enough to push her boundaries.

“Yes, Tara.” Oh. Tara shivered from the sheer delight of Faith’s ready submission. There was a brief delay as Faith dragged on her jeans and T-shirt. Then a pair of strong arms slid under Tara and lifted her off the couch. Cradled her carefully against a firm chest. Tara could feel the thud of Faith’s heartbeat. Or was that her own? She didn’t care, nestled against Faith as she was carried through the house.

Faith’s bare tapped impatiently against Tara’s bedroom door. “B, open the door.” She tapped again. “I can hear you in there. Stop hoggin’ the bed.”

_You do realize we kicked them out of the living room?_ Tara asked through the bond.

Cradled in Faith’s arms, there was no way Tara missed Faith’s uncaring shrug. “Gonna kick the door down if ya’ don’t open it!”

“Faith!” Tara admonished.

“What?” Faith tilted her head at the door. “Cheap wood. Won’t even need Slayer strength to take it out.”

The door popped open. “Keep your boots on the floor. If you had boots on.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “I was busy. You know, reading the ten million books you brought for the nine hundredth time.” She stepped away from the door, giving them room to enter. “Just for you, though, we’ll pack up and move. Again.” Her grin was mischievous. “Or we could leave them here. You can try to find the magical needle in the Mayor’s haystack while Tara sleeps.”

“Sorry, B. Got another job.” Faith pushed into the room, crowded with the original Scooby gang. The “new” recruits were missing. “Gonna be holding Tara and keeping her safe while she sleeps. Guess it’s up to you and the brain trust to figure things out.”

A kernel of guilt wormed its way into Tara’s conscience. “We could…”

“We could, but we ain’t,” Faith summed up firmly. “You’re gonna take your meds and I’m holding you while you sleep. Don’t make me get tough. I got way more skills than those two whole punches you know.”

Who cared about research? “I’m sure you do, my Slayer.” Tara snuggled deeper into Faith’s hold and saw Buffy smile at her actions.

“Becky couldn’t stop babbling about Faith’s skills. A teacher? Who would’ve figured that?” Turning away, Buffy helped Giles and Lydia pack the final pile of books into bags. “I think she’s trying to get Marlee to move to Sunnydale permanently so she can be one of the Tiger Cubs.”

What was a tiger cub and what was Faith teaching them? Something for Tara to ask, if the drugs didn’t knock her out immediately.

“I’ll be by first thing in the morning with breakfast, girls,” Joyce said as everyone made an exodus for the door. She kissed Faith’s cheek and pointed a finger at Tara. “You let Faith take care of you.” Then, completely ignoring Tara’s glare, she murmured to Faith, “Dominants make very bad patients. If she gives you too much trouble, I’m only a phone call away.”

Tara felt Faith vibrate with laughter; although, her voice was suspiciously innocent. “Sure thing, Mrs. S.”

The room was blessedly quiet once the door closed behind Buffy and the gang. Tara sighed in relief. She hadn’t realized how exhausting all the hustle d bustle of people had been. How much she really hurt.

Faith must have known. She was too smart sometimes. Especially when it came to the aftermath of brutality. “Hang in there,” Faith murmured softly. She somehow managed to hold Tara with one arm as she pulled down the comforter and sheet with the other. Then she very gently set Tara on the mattress. “Let’s get this shirt off. I need to check the bandages. All the movin’ around coulda’ opened the cuts again.”

Her hands were touchingly gentle as she unbuttoned the over-large shirt and pushed it off Tara’s shoulders. “Doc did a good job.” With light tugs, Faith unstuck the material from some of the bandages. “Only a little blood. Should probably add more of his special shit to your back, but I don’t wanna hurt you. You need to lay down now; let the meds make you feel better first.”

People kept shoving pills at Tara. She wanted to refuse but knew she’d never win the argument. Accepting two capsules and a drink of water (which Faith carefully held to her lips), Tara bowed to reality. And need. She hurt. Everywhere.

Something light and tentative brushed the curtain she’d pulled across the bond. The warm, comforting sensation stayed for only a second before disappearing. “Lay down.” In case Tara didn’t understand, Faith guided Tara onto her side and slipped off her sweat pants. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. I wanna get some ice and whatever’s left from the DMP run in case you want something later.”

Faith’s presence stayed in the room with Tara. A deep well of strength and slim shadow of thought hovering at the edge of the bond. With a smile, Tara reached for that ephemeral Faith guarding her mental “door”. “ _Hurry back. I miss you.”_

_“Only been gone, like, ten seconds. Thought you told me this wasn’t a prison, witch.”_ Faith’s inner voice was mocking, the comment a teasing reminder of a previous conversation.

It sobered Tara a little. Less than a day ago, she and Faith had been on the verge of breaking their bond. That wasn’t going to happen now. No way. They still had a long way to go, though, in order to rebuild their rocky relationship. Rebuilding meant finding the time – and the commitment – to sit down and talk. To explore their dynamic.

_“I ain’t lettin’ you spend any more time with Willow_.” Exasperation colored Faith’s mental jibe. _“I get it. Now. We gotta sit and talk.”_ It didn’t take the bond for Tara to know, on a soul-deep level, that this was the last thing Faith ever wanted to do. _“Stop thinkin’ so hard. Close your eyes and sleep unless you want me to knock your ass out.”_

Tara gave a disgruntled sniff. As if she’d ever allow Faith to get away with that. Unfortunately, the medication hit hard and fast thanks to Tara’s recently poor eating habits and the exhaustion that she’d ignored all evening. Her mind was suddenly too fuzzy to form thoughts through the bond. Her eyes drifted closed.

***

Tara was out for the count. Faith shook her head. Stupid, crazy…beautiful witch. Since there was no rush now, she half-heartedly picked up the dinner trash in Trish’s living room. The sudden Scooby pull-out had left the once-crowded space a graveyard of forgotten books, empty glasses, and plates or bags of crumbs.

“I can get that, you know.” Drew took a step into the living room and regarded Faith. “Mistress is busy berating Trish for dragging us into a big mess.” A grin lit his features and he suddenly appeared very young and lighthearted. “They were toe to toe and Lady Trish was using her Lawyer Voice when I snuck out.”

Trish was winning against Monica? Drew was a liar. Faith let it pass. “T’s crashed out. It’s no big deal.” Shrugging, she grabbed another empty glass. “More than enough to keep us both busy, though, if ya’ just gotta help.” She hated cleaning. It was pointless; as soon as this mess was picked up, someone would leave another glass or plate or wadded-up burger wrapper.

“I said I can get it.” Gently batting Faith’s hands away from the trash, Drew shook his head. “Once Lady Trish and Mistress get started, the bickering lasts for a while. I’ve seen the show before.” He pointed imperiously at the kitchen. “You were headed that way when I came into the room. Get going. If I _do_ miss anything exciting, Maxie can fill me in.”

Faith hesitated. Why was Drew being so nice?

“I’ve been here a million times. I know where Lady Trish keeps the leashes.” Drew put his hands on his hips. “Do I need to get one? Drag you into the kitchen? What does your Lady need? I’ll help you find it and carry it back to the room. You might need reinforcements. Lady Tara could probably out-stubborn Mistress. Maxie said she staggered out here to help your friends even though she could barely walk.”

“Not anymore,” Faith said with conviction. She left Drew to gather up a pile of plates and finished the trip to the kitchen. Most of the burgers and pizza were gone. Four Slayers plus Xander put away a mountain of food. Faith snagged a chicken sandwich and some leftover doughnuts. A couple of bottled waters from the ‘fridge. It would do unto morning. She’d have fresh jelly-filled doughnuts waiting for Tara when she woke up.

“If you need anything else, Mistress and I will be sleeping out here.” Drew filled the dishwasher to overflowing with dirty items from the living room. “Your friend Lady Buffy said that they were warding the house before they left and not to open the door. At all.” He shivered. “She’s very scary.” Voice dropping to a comical whisper, he finished. “Scarier than Mistress but don’t tell her I said that.”

If Janna or Willow had warded the house… Faith suddenly remembered the scene at the House. The Mayor had drawn first blood. Pools of it. Now that his secret was out, there was nothing to stop him from coming after Faith, Tara, and all of their friends with everything he had. “You ever used crossbow before, pretty boy?”


	72. Chapter 72

Drew didn’t laugh…exactly. “Do computer games count? I’ve adventured in Icewind Dale a few times.” He dug through the pile of greasy paper bags on the table and counter, somehow finding a forgotten carton of cold fries and a smashed (but still wrapped) Double-Meat burger. He stacked those on a clean plate – along with the doughnuts and chicken sandwich he took from Faith. “You’re the weapons expert. If something breaks through a window, I’ll let you handle it. Or Mistress. She can be fierce.”

Monica wouldn’t stand a chance. Faith figured _she_ wouldn’t, either, if the Mayor’s boys somehow busted in. They’d handled Wes and Kendra with no problem. Of course, Wes had given the Mayor an opening, too. The House hadn’t sported any warding when they’d found the bodies. The Boss might find it a lot harder to bust in here if Janna had warded the house. “Not like T, she ain’t,” Faith finally boasted, coming back to the conversation at hand.

“That is a matter of opinion.” Drew mock scowled before stuffing more trash into the overflowing trashcan under the sink.

“Only opinion that counts is mine.” Setting the plate down, Faith rummaged for anything Buffy, Becky, or Rhonda might have overlooked in the food department. A half a bag of Fritos, a bruised apple, and a blueberry cereal bar joined the rest of the feast on the plate.

Now for the really important shit: lots and lots of ice. “Trish got any baggies?”

“I think so,” Drew answered. He pushed past Faith and peered into the pantry. “What size do you need?” A box of baggies sailed out, followed by another. “Sandwich and gallon. No quart.”

Faith chucked the smaller baggies back at Drew. “Too small.” Heading to the refrigerator, she ripped open the icemaker. She stuffed handfuls of ice into the first gallon baggie until it was so full that zipping it was a struggle.

A small garbage bag appeared as Drew held it out. “We’ll put the ice bags in here. It should keep the bed dry if you have a leak, and you can line it up along Lady Tara’s back.” Drew was smart. He’d figured out Faith’s plan.

They worked in companionable silence, stuffing bags with ice and layering them into the garbage bag, until the icemaker was empty. Faith didn’t leave for the bedroom, though. She hesitated. She needed to get back to Tara. Still… “You and Monica.”

Drew wiped his hands on a dishtowel and leaned against the counter. His arms crossed over his chest and his expression grew resigned. “I want to be with her. She really doesn’t abuse me,” he muttered.

“What?” That hadn’t been Faith’s question. It _might_ have been, at one time. “Nah. Ain’t worried about that. Saw the way you ‘stood up’ for her shit.” She enjoyed his blush and pleased grin. “Just never met anyone like you. Not even Giles is so formal. ‘Lady’ everybody.” She only teased Tara with that title, even when Tara’s Dominance was on display.

“And you want to know why.” Stance relaxing, Drew responded. “Don’t you feel something, some need to bow or kneel or grovel when Lady Tara gives you a command?”

Faith shifted uncomfortably at the question then reluctantly admitted, “Yeah.” Of course she did. Tara was fucking awesome when she let herself channel all her Dominance. Faith simply didn’t like telling Drew (or anyone else) how much she enjoyed that part of Tara.

“So do I. Only Mistress doesn’t turn her Dominance on and off like most of her friends.” Drew hesitated. “Like most _normal_ Dominants.”

“What?” Faith hated to talk. Had never planned to play Twenty Questions with Drew. Now that they were _in_ the conversation, though, she didn’t really want to stop. What did he mean by “normal” Dominants? Faith had never considered how the Dominant/submissive dynamics worked. Being the fuck-toy of Dominant johns didn’t count. They hadn’t cared about her wants and needs, and Faith would rather have killed herself than give them what _they_ wanted if she’d had a choice.

Maybe Drew wasn’t comfortable talking, either. He turned away and messed with the plastic canisters on the counter, sorting them by height and lining them up perfectly.

“Hey, if ya’ don’t wanna tell me,” Faith started. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Except she couldn’t stop a tiny kernel of embarrassment from springing to life. Hell, Drew probably thought she was a moron for having to ask questions about stuff she should already know.

She grabbed the garbage bag of ice, intending to leave.

“I can’t…I…” Drew’s shoulders slumped. “It’s something I need. Like the pain. And the humiliation.”

Faith had figured out the pain and humiliation part. “So Monica ain’t stuck on the title? Huh. I was ready to punch her if she tried makin’ me do that shit.” She set the bag back down. “Never thought about what I wanted to call T. First time we were together as more than friends, she told me to call her Tara when she was doin’ her thing.” Could she do what Drew did? Did she _want_ to?

Mistress. Faith tried the title in her mind and got sucked into the past.

 _She couldn’t breathe! The tiny, filthy room swam with black dots as Faith fought against the hands around her throat. “Little bitch,_ ” _the Domme snarled. Her bright red lipstick was a weird neon beacon amid the gray clouding Faith’s vision. “You’ll call me Mistress or you’ll suffer!”_

“…think I’m crazy.” Drew continued to talk, his voice an anchor for Faith as she fought her way back to the present. “It’s why Master Brian asked Mistress not to play with me in public. Someone called the police on us once; reported I was being abused.”

Faith laughed bitterly, awash with the lingering reminder of her past. “At least someone gave a damn. I coulda died and not even Ma woulda called the cops.” In fact, Faith’s mother would have been pissed at the caller because it would have cost her a paying john. Not even death was more important than cash for her next fix.

She didn’t see Drew pivot in her direction until he stepped forward. “Lady Tara didn’t…?”

“Huh?” It took a second for Drew’s shocked question to register. “Fuck, no! T ain’t like that.” Sweet, shy, and occasionally the scariest Domme around, yes. Abusive? No way in hell. “Happened a long time ago,” Faith added in a shamed mutter.

“It happened last year,” Drew said. “Mistress spent the night in jail.” Faith might have laughed at mean Monica in the city’s lock up with the drunks and pros. Except Drew looked shattered by the memory. “Master Brian and Lady Trish had to hire a lawyer for us.”

That must have sucked. “Everything turned out OK, though, right?” Drew and Monica acted happy.

Drew nodded. “The lawyer got the Bond Registration witch to re-validate the bond and I had to testify – along with Master Brian and a bunch of Mistress’ friends – that the way Mistress treated me was part of our contract.”

Contract. The word froze Faith’s heart. Contracts and collars. She and Tara didn’t have either one. Was that part of what Tara wanted to talk about? Not just their families and shitty home lives but what to put in a contract? The guy at the claiming had told Tara they had to file one or they’d arrest her. Drew had fallen silent, lost in his own thoughts. Would he tell her what it was like to be a real submissive?

The moment had slipped away, though. Drew pushed away from the counter. “Come on. I’m sure you want to be with Lady Tara and not stuck in a kitchen with me talking your ear off.” His usual polite, cheerful expression reappeared. “If you need more to eat, I’m sure one of the Ladies would go out and pick something up.”

“We’re good,” Faith told him. Then added a sincere, “Thanks.” Not just for the offer of a late-night food run; although, Faith didn’t explain that. “Mrs. S said she had breakfast covered, and I’m gonna grab doughnuts, too.” Something pushed her to tell Drew, “Tara likes the jelly-filled ones.”

He grinned, the last of the painful memory gone from his eyes. “Mistress prefers rainbow sprinkles.”

Faith lost it – and she and Drew leaned against each other as they laughed. Girly rainbow sprinkles did _not_ fit Monica’s tough bitch image. “If you ever tell I said that, I’ll have to kill you,” Drew vowed when they recovered.

“You and what army, pretty boy?” Faith mocked with a teasing shove. “I might just spray paint that shit over the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign so everybody comin’ into town sees it.”

“I’ll steal all the red meat products from the next food run and leave you with _salad_ ,” Drew fired back.

Faith straightened at that threat. “Hey! There’s no call to be mean.” Then she grinned. “But fine. You win. For now.” She looped the garbage bag over her left shoulder and the spot where it rested immediately froze. “Night, pretty boy.”

His reply followed Faith back to the bedroom. She slipped inside. Her stealth was wasted. Tara never stirred. The doctor must have given her the good stuff; Faith decided to use Tara’s medicated sleep to her advantage.

The nightstand next to the bed was a tiny pharmacy. Someone had left a box of latex gloves, sterile wipes and a host of pills and ointments. Faith pulled a pair of the gloves on and then picked up the jar of prescription ointment next to the pill bottle. This would be better for Tara if Faith took care of the wounds while she was asleep.

Her movements slow and careful, Faith peeled the bandages off Tara’s back. The red welts and cuts appeared clean and were already healing. Only a few of the very worst ones stilled looked raw. Two of those oozed blood and fluid. Faith patted them dry with a sterile wipe and then gently dabbed on the ointment.

Even drugged, Tara flinched away from her touch. Faith froze with each of Tara’s involuntary movements. Only when Tara’s breathing smoothed out did she resume treating each of the cuts. Faith was shaking and soaked in a thin layer of sweat by the time all of the bandages had been replaced. She’d fucking _kill_ for a drink right now (or another shot at Papa Maclay).

Instead of raiding Trish’s cabinets in the hope of locating anything alcoholic or busting into the Sunnydale jail, Faith wrapped a clean T-shirt around the garbage bag and settled it against Tara’s back. Done. There was nothing more Faith could do to help.

Except crawl into bed and hold Tara. Faith played the odds and opened the window part-way. The chill breeze just might keep the invisible walls from closing in on her too quickly. Not bothering to strip, she crawled into bed and arranged one arm under Tara’s pillow. She used the other to tuck Tara’s hair behind her ear and then gently traced the lines of pain bracketing Tara’s mouth. “Sleep tight, T.”

***

Sunlight poured into the room, along with an icy breeze, as Tara managed to fight free of the drugs. She blinked and tried to bring the room into focus. Everything kept fuzzing out or weirdly sticking together.

“Mornin’, sleepy-head.” Faith’s voice was a husky rumble emanating from the large fuzzy shape directly in front of Tara. “Sorry if I woke ya’. Got tired of sittin’ in the chair.”

“Morning back.” Tara wished she could say it was a _good_ morning. Unfortunately, her mind wasn’t ready to make that sweeping statement. In fact, it took most of her concentration to keep her eyes from closing. Stupid drugs. She had the worst non-alcohol hangover ever.

A callused finger stroked her cheek. “Don’t be a downer, T.” There was a hint of laughter in Faith’s voice. “But I like that lip thing. Guess you ain’t wrong. It’s kinda hot.” The finger rose and poked at Tara’s lower lip. “Bet some jelly doughnuts’ll make you feel better. Even smuggled coffee past Mrs. S after she said you couldn’t have caffeine with the meds.”

Caffeine? “I love you,” Tara said solemnly. “ _Love_ you. Where’s the coffee?”

With a snort, Faith leaned away. “Guess I know where I stand. Thought you told me I was the most important thing in your life or some shit. Shit is right. Wave some coffee in front of ya’ and it’s all ‘Faith who?’” The mattress dipped as Faith climbed out of bed. “I’ll help you sit up then you can have the coffee, OK?”

No longer the brash, teasing Faith. Tara recognized Faith’s “younger” and less confident submissive Faith. The change put Tara on alert. “Thank you, sweetie,” she murmured in reply. Faith nearly picked Tara up as she rearranged her in bed. Moving hurt. Thankfully not as much as before. Tara sighed in relief.

Her next sigh was of appreciation as Faith pressed the warm paper coffee cup into her hands and fragrant steam wafted up. Paper crinkled before a plate of doughnuts landed in her lap. “You remembered.” They were the same kind Tara had eaten the day they’d met for their impromptu breakfast.

“Thought you’d like ‘em.” Faith ignored Tara’s comment. She moved restlessly next to the bed, hands rubbing up and down her pant legs.

“Climb back on the bed.” The command flowed easily. Tara felt her connection to Faith again; somehow, she knew that Faith _needed_ her to be in control right now. “I need you to be close, my Slayer,” she admitted. “You promised to cuddle as long as I wanted – if I took my medicine. Which I did.” She gently patted the mattress next to her. “Sit right here, and I promise I’ll forget all about the coffee and doughnuts.”

It was enough to break Faith’s apparent indecision. She moved quickly to the far side of the bed.

Before Faith could climb on, though, Tara decided that _she_ needed one more thing. “T-Take your jeans off.” The stutter betrayed her; _this_ command failed miserably. Another of those lost Dominant points Faith had often pointed out in the past.

Sure enough, Faith regarded Tara with an evil glint in her eyes. “Ya’ sure?” Her hands hovered teasingly near her belt buckle.

They weren’t about to scene. The entire _feel_ of this interaction was different. Tara wasn’t operating on instinct; this was a deliberate, non-desire soaked order. An order that hadn’t been about filling Faith’s need. Filling her _own_ needs wasn’t so simple. Tara fought to regain the bone-deep certainty she’d had when fulfilling _Faith_ ’ _s_ unspoken desires. Slowing her speech against the threat of more stuttering, she said, “I want to feel you against me, my Slayer.”

The mischievous light in Faith’s eyes extinguished, replaced with soft, melted chocolate. Faith’s belt buckle clinked as it came undone. Her jeans quickly puddled on the floor, and Faith wiggled into the spot Tara had indicated. “This good?” The question was unexpectedly soft, lacking Faith’s usual edge. It matched the less aggressive expression Faith wore.

“It’s perfect.” And it was. Shoving the coffee at Faith, Tara carefully scooted closer. It was a challenge, given the plate of doughnuts on her thighs and the itching, burning cuts on her back. She persevered, though, and found just the right spot with her head resting at the juncture of Faith’s neck and shoulder. Leaving the coffee with Faith, Tara settled one hand on Faith’s stomach under her T-shirt. “I may never move again.”

“Sure ya’ will.” There was a momentary pressure on top of Tara’s head. A kiss? “Already past time for more meds, and you’re gonna need to pee soon.”

Tara laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I thought you said _I_ spent too much time with Willow. Don’t rain on my happy parade, Fact Faith. This is my happy place and I am not leaving it ever again. Got it?”

“You’re crazy.” But Faith stopped protesting and even pressed another one of those light kisses to the top of Tara’s head. “Think that’s why I…why I…” The words petered out. When they resumed, Faith’s voice stopped and started in uneven bursts of words. “Ain’t never met anyone like you. All the Dominants I fucked.” The word was shocking, yet not unexpected. “All they cared about was them. Getting off. Hurting me. I didn’t matter. And now you tell me I’m perfect. That I ain’t gotta change. You treat me good even when I’m a bitch and I hurt you on purpose. You almost fuckin’ died because you kept them shields on me!”

Instinct kept Tara’s immediate response locked away. She wanted to protest the risk to her own life and confirm Faith’s worth again. Keeping silent stretched Tara’s will power. She waited – and her patience paid off.

“I don’t get you. But I…I want it. Want you.” Instead of trying to look at Faith as she talked, Tara stopped stroking Faith’s stomach and reached across Faith’s body to take the hand without the coffee cup. “I can feel you, kinda warm and soft and wrapped around me in my head.”

“Do you want me to go away, Faith? I c…closed the bond.” But hadn’t locked it down like before. “I don’t mean… I wouldn’t force you…” Tara started, heart aching. Had she misread everything that had happened in since last night? She knew how much Faith hated having Tara “in her head.”

Faith’s head dropped until it rested against Tara’s. “I like it. Now. Just need a little time so I don’t freak.” A sliver of self-mockery lightened her tone. “I got a problem with freakin’. Don’t tell B, though. Won’t never live it down.”


	73. Chapter 73

Faith mumbled something, waking Tara from her doze. “No. Come on, little cat…” A frown marred Faith’s features, tension tightening her jawline even in sleep. Tara reached out hesitantly. Should she wake Faith? Before she could make a decision, Faith jerked and her hands flailed in the air. Reaching for something? “Cat!” There was an unaccustomed snap to Faith’s voice. “Cat?” Command faded beneath fear – and then pleading. “Don’t leave. Please. I…Please, little cat.”

The heartbroken pleading hit Tara hard. “Shh, Faith.” She tried to comfort Faith as she continued to thrash and plead in the midst of her dream. “I’m right here, sweetie. I’m right here. I won’t leave, I promise.” Over and over, Tara repeated that refrain. At first, Faith didn’t seem to hear her. She continued to thrash and cry out until Tara inched closer and was about to risk pulling Faith into her arms when Faith slumped to the bed. Tara noticed tears staining her cheeks and the way her breath shuddered as if she were sobbing.

What horror was Faith reliving? She seemed to have so many from the way she’d talked after their doughnut breakfast.

_“Ma started givin’ me to her ‘regulars’ when I was eight or nine, I guess.” Faith stared resolutely across the room, never once glancing at Tara. Her usually whisky-smooth voice was flat…devoid of emotion. “It was just a couple at first. Then she figured out they’d pay way more for me than for her.”_

_Before Tara could even begin to find a way to express her anger at Faith’s mother and her limitless pride in Faith’s survival, Faith continued. “Guess I was luckier than you. Ma made sure none of the fuckers left any marks.” A bitter smile twisted Faith’s lips. “Didn’t care how bad they hurt me; just couldn’t leave nothin’ for people to see.”_

Given Faith’s background, Tara knew it was risky to touch Faith. To hold her. Especially when Faith wasn’t expecting it. Goddess, she was only human, though. Caught between memories of the past Faith had shared and her current nightmare, Tara gave in to instinct. She got as close to Faith as she could and carefully wrapped an arm around Faith.

The reaction was immediate. Faith froze; her choppy breathing turned into tiny sips of air. “Oh, sweetie.” Tara loosened her hold and put a little space between them. Slowly, Faith relaxed. Her breathing evened, and she no longer thrashed in the bed.

Tara continued to watch Faith sleep. She could faintly hear movement in the hallway. Voices. The sounds of everyday life. It was mid-afternoon. She’d fallen asleep after Faith had stuffed her full of food and medication again. Tara vowed never to take those particular pills again. She should have been awake and taking care of Faith after their conversation earlier.

Of course, getting Tara to pass out just might have been Faith’s plan. It had been very evident Faith hadn’t been comfortable with sharing her past. She’d done it, though. Tara had been so proud of her – and so ready to level all of South Boston. Faith had laughed (with little humor) at Tara’s anger. “Ain’t a big deal, T. It’s over.”

She’d ducked her head at Tara’s glare. “It _is_ over, my Faith,” Tara had vowed. Faith belonged to _her_ now, and no one would ever hurt Faith again.

Protecting Faith meant getting back on her feet as quickly as possible. Tara glanced at Faith to be sure she was still sleeping before closing her eyes. It was hard to center, to empty her mind and find that quiet place deep inside. Too much had happened. _Was_ happening. Tara refused to give up. Faith was worth the work and the effort.

Finally, the world faded away. Tara let the inner silence settle around her. When she was sure she’d closed off any outside stimuli, Tara “spun” around her Center. It definitely was _not_ the clean and clear Center she’d had only days before. Jagged emotional edges and the bright oranges and reds of lingering pain and anger. Pain… Tara wasn’t a healer. But the anger could and would go.

Meditation was second nature. It was the first skill her mother had taught her, long before her first spell or potion. Dropping mental words like stones into the still waters of her mind, Tara “spoke”. _“The troubles that haunt me, that burn me inside, move out from my body and into the sky. Into my body flows purity and peace. I am cleansed by the Goddess, my struggles released.”_

At first, her words were soft. A mere trickle of sound within her Center. Tara didn’t stop with one repetition, however. Over and over, she silently chanted the same mantra. Ripples began in that inner silence. Ripples that grew to waves as her “voice” rose to a shout. The waves crashed against the pockets of Tara’s rage.

They drowned out the ghostly images of her father and brother, taunting her in the warehouse. The remembered slap of the whip against her back. The rising murmur of confused questions from her friends in the bar as Faith propositioned the Dominant. Her own need to lash out at Faith every time she refused Tara’s love and their bond.

When the only colors remaining were a tranquil blue and the lingering shadows of pain-filled orange, Tara gently brushed Janna’s wards with her mind. Testing. Tracing their foundation, Tara was satisfied Janna had not cut any corners.

Safe from Dark Magickal influences, Tara tapped the same ley line she’d used the night she and Faith had fully bonded. Slower this time. Rushing might damage her channels. The energy felt _so_ good, though, as it flowed into her reservoir. Heat suffused her from the inside out. With it came an all-encompassing feeling of wellness that defied her remaining injuries.

When every nook and cranny was replete with magic, Tara severed her connection with the ley line and allowed her consciousness to resurface. The room appeared brighter, more in focus. She stretched, ignoring the lingering itch and burn beneath the bandages covering her back. Nothing Tara did would heal her wounds. She didn’t have the skills for that, but Willow had done something the morning following Tara’s rescue (her babbled explanation had included far too many multi-syllabic medical terms for the heavily medicated Tara to understand) to “kickstart” Tara’s normal healing process to “Slayer levels.”

Tara hadn’t understood it then or now. She couldn’t even prove it had worked, except… She’d managed to walk and sit on the couch yesterday. Two things that even high amounts of stubbornness and drugs shouldn’t have made possible.

Whatever forces were at play, Tara planned to use them. She had to get back on her feet and back on board with the research team. The Mayor was _almost_ the only thing standing between her and Faith and their future together.

He’d be easier to defeat than their collective pasts and emotional baggage.

First things first. There were more voices in the living room than before. Tara and Faith couldn’t hide in bed all afternoon, no matter how appealing it sounded. “Sweetie, wake up,” Tara called softly.

A second later, Faith’s eyes snapped open and she rolled out of bed in one panicked move.

Not wanting to call attention to Faith’s fearful reaction, Tara simply said, “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. I guess you were right. I _did_ need to rest.”

It was the proper tack to take. Faith’s posture eased. “Told ya’,” she replied with more than a touch of arrogance. “Stubborn witch.”

Aware of every nuance of Faith’s expression and body language, Tara pretended a casualness she didn’t feel. “That’s _your_ stubborn witch, and don’t you forget it.” Faith’s grin had Tara smiling in return. This was familiar. _Right_. The stilted, awkward interaction of the last few days was missing. If only they could ignore reality… With a disgruntled sigh, Tara glanced at the clock. “We missed lunch. You’re probably starving. I hear at least some of the gang moving around. Why don’t you help me up and we’ll see if it’s time for a food run?”

“You need to stay in bed.” Faith was resolute. She crossed her arms over her chest (truly a beautiful sight) and narrowed her eyes in what was probably supposed to be a threatening gesture.

Following the rush of Dominance that flared in response, Tara narrowed her eyes right back. Faith shivered visibly and her chin dropped for a bare instant before rising in deliberate defiance. “Do you need me to show you who’s in charge, my Faith?” Faith was close enough for Tara to spot the way Faith’s skin goose pimpled from the cool control in Tara’s voice. “Or will you follow me to the living room, where I’ll let you pamper me?”

Tara decided to give Faith a little…motivation. She leaned toward Faith until her breasts brushed Faith’s chest. Wonder of wonders, Tara realized she had forgotten she was still naked. Faith’s cotton shirt was soft against her nipples. Faith’s eyes tracked the stiffening peaks as they brushed over the fabric as Tara moved even closer. “We could stay here.”

“We could,” Tara readily agreed. “But it wouldn’t be very nice.” Damn it. “What about helping our friends?”

A truly fierce scowl met her question.

“Mama used to say my face would freeze if I scowled like that.” Tara shook her head in mock sadness. “That would be horrible since you’re so beautiful when you smile.” A little of Faith’s disagreeable expression faded. “You still don’t believe me, do you?” Leaning back again, Tara murmured. “I’ll just have to work harder.”

“Ya need to not work at all.” Faith’s comment made Tara grind her teeth in frustration until Faith continued. “But it don’t look like I can stop ya. Stay the fuck here and I’ll grab your clothes. Not gonna help anybody if you take a header and smack your head on the dresser.” Faith’s hands were warm and steady as she cupped Tara’s shoulders and settled her against the pillows. “Don’t move,” she ordered.

Hiding her grin, Tara answered, “Yes, Faith.”

Faith snorted. “Whatever. We both know you won’t do what I tell ya.” She opened and closed drawers with a bang until she found a new pair of sweat pants and a big cotton sleep shirt Trish had given her for Christmas. It was bright green with tinsel-like red trim. Frolicking cats wearing Santa hats covered the front.

“That’s a lie, my Faith, and you know it.” Tara enjoyed their banter and the way Faith knelt to carefully pull the pants up over her feet and legs. “I’ve let you talk me into all kinds of things – some of them you don’t even know about.”

Allowing Faith to help her stand again, Tara held her breath as Faith settled the sweat pants over her butt and then slowly and carefully raised her arms one by one to put on the sleep shirt. Tara blinked back tears of pain as the movement, no matter how gently done, pulled and irritated the cuts on her back. She sensed rather than saw Faith about to tell her (again) to stay in bed. “Which of us in charge?” Tara asked with more snap. She wasn’t an invalid.

“Been askin’ ya’ that from the beginning.” Faith stepped back and waved at the bedroom door. “Try not to fall down. Ain’t got no orders to catch your ass.”

If it wouldn’t have hurt, Tara would have thrown her hands up in the air. She had to be happy with stomping her feet as she walked, wavering only a little, to the door. With a triumphant smile, she said, “Come, Faith,” and added a mockingly raised eyebrow and snapping fingers to complete her command. “I’d hate for you to wonder what I need from you.”

Sullen muttering followed Tara into the hallway, completely at odds with the mental fizz of Faith’s laughter.

“Tara!” Monica glanced over the back of the couch, and Trish and Maxie both scrambled from their shared seat in the recliner. If even _one_ of them mentioned needing to stay in bed… Luckily for them all, Monica skipped the dangerous topic. “Congratulations. I didn’t think you’d tame your sub so quickly. See, princess?” she asked Drew, who must have knelt at her feet since Tara couldn’t yet see him. “ _That’s_ what I want you to do when we’re out: walk three paces behind me like a good little boy.”

The fizz in Tara’s mind grew more…energetic and less ticklish for a minute. “Don’t they got leashes, like the thing you put on your bike and hook to your dog, so your boy toy stays just the right distance away?” Faith moved around Tara once they cleared the side of the couch and settled the throw pillows into a cushy “seatback” at one corner. Everyone in the room gaped at her. “You gotta be the Big Bad Bitch and come out here, fine. You’re outta the bedroom. Whoo fucking hoo. Now sit down before I make you.”

Someone snickered, and Tara grinned at the sound. Leaning around Faith, she saw Drew with a hand clapped over his mouth to contain the rest of his merriment. “Isn’t she fierce?” Tara asked him in a stage whisper.

He nodded.

“Sit. Down.” Faith gripped Tara’s forearms and maneuvered her in front of the couch. “Mrs. S was right. You suck at bein’ sick.” She waited, a completely immovable object, until Tara sighed and gave in. “Now, you gonna stay there so I can grab lunch?”

“And give your friend Buffy a call,” Trish chimed in. “I think they’ve been working all night. She left a message at an ungodly hour this morning, asking you to call her as soon as you and Tara were up.”

Lunch could wait. If the Scoobies had been researching since they left Trish’s the night before, food wasn’t a priority. “Sweetie?”

“Yeah, that don’t sound good.” Faith had already grabbed the phone. She punched the buttons as she explained to the non-Council crew. “B’s got problems all over the place now. Not just the Mayor. Wonder if the Council…” She stopped talking for a second then began speaking to someone on the phone. “Got your message. What’s up? You need us?”

As the silence in the room grew and lengthened, Faith’s mental voice announced, _“The Boss. I mean, the Mayor disappeared.”_ The emotion swirling through the link was so complex and layered that Tara held out her hand, inviting Faith to return to her side. Faith accepted the gesture, gripping Tara’s hand like a lifeline. “Yeah. OK. T ain’t gonna like it, but OK. I’ll let ‘em know.”

It was frustrating to listen – not only because of that “T ain’t gonna like it.” Tara wanted to snatch the phone away from Faith and talk to Buffy herself. Ask questions.

_“Geez, you’re worse than a Cub needin’ to pee. Gimme a minute.”_ Faith rolled her eyes and grinned at Tara’s glare. “Any special orders? Yeah. OK. We’ll be ready.” She hung up the phone by stabbing a button on the handset with a flourish.

And then…Then Faith sat like a lump on the couch next to Tara and said nothing!

“Faith.” Tara refused to beg for information. Or shout. She really wanted to shout. Her voice was tight with restraint as she asked, “What did Buffy have to say?” _“If you don’t start talking, I’m going to beat the information out of you.”_

_“No, you won’t. Beating’s on your limit list. It might make me less pretty.”_ There was a wealth of laughter and delight in that comment. “No one’s seen the Mayor since yesterday morning before I stole the Books. FBI and the local cops are lookin’ for him, but Giles figures he knows we’re onto him.”

With a whoop, Maxie danced around the living room. “No more books with creepy demons in them!”

Faith and Tara shared a look. “You may wanna save the Boogie for later. Just ‘cause B ain’t found him, don’t mean we won. The gang’s maybe got a lead on how to kill him; still a lot of research to do.”


	74. Chapter 74

Maybe. Maybe they had a lead. “What’s the plan?” Tara asked softly. “Are they coming back here to finish the research?”

Faith shook her head. “Nope. Gang’s back at the House. Guess they got it all cleaned up.” A shadow crossed her expression for a second. It had to be hard for her to remember the scene she and Buffy had witnessed. “B said a friend of Scott’s had somethin’ they were workin’ on. They’re sending cars for us. Time to hit the books again.”

“And Tara isn’t going to like reading?” Trish winked at Tara and said, “I didn’t know you hated books. You always helped me study for exams. I’m pretty sure you’ve even worked your way through most of that collection on Dominance.”

Tara responded with a solemn nod. Teasing Faith was _fun_ , despite the serious topic. It was so much better with Trish’s willing assistance. It signaled that her friends had accepted Faith’s heartfelt apology from yesterday. “I hated every minute of it. Every line of text.” She misquoted one of Brian’s bits of advice. “You can’t learn about life or law in books, Trish. You have to learn by doing.”

“I miss shy Tara,” Faith groused. “She never made fun of me.” Her grin belied the comment, and her eyes danced.

“Now, what else did Buffy tell you, Faith?” Trish’s question dimmed Faith’s smile; Tara missed it immediately. “That was a long conversation for just ‘let’s read more creepy books.’”

Shrugging, Faith said, “That was pretty much it. Only other thing is we’re movin’ back to the House with the crew. You and the Bitch Lady over there, too.” Tara noticed Monica’s glare and Faith’s badly hidden smirk and wondered when Faith had grown so comfortable poking at the usually snippy Monica. “He’s sending a couple of cars. Me, Will, and Xan are supposed to pick up some shit Buffy said they needed. Rest of ya’ have a date with the books.”

That must have been the part Tara wasn’t supposed to like. Faith had been correct. Tara _didn’t_ like it. “The Mayor’s out there. It’s not safe for you, my Faith.”

“Don’t think he’s dumb enough to come after me in the daylight, T.” Faith didn’t back away from Tara’s disapproval. She met is head on. “ _If we’re gonna win, we need whatever B wants us to pick up.”_ Faith’s voice said calmly in Tara’s mind. “Remember, I wasn’t the one he was scared of. That’s you. Hope he don’t come after you.”

Stalemate. Tara realized they were both worried about the other – and neither would back down from doing what was necessary “Fine,” she said with little grace. “You can go do…whatever, and I will go to the House and read very old, very scary, very _boring_ books.”

***

Tara’s pout was adorable. Faith wanted to crawl onto the couch and nibble at the outthrust lip. Before she got too off track, though, Trish grumbled. “I don’t remember signing a contract with the Council. Max and I have classes and Monica’s got a job to go to.”

“Call in sick. The Mayor knows you’re with T. Makes you targets,” Faith said bluntly. “You want your girl or the pretty boy snatched off the sidewalk, too?” She saw Trish register the question and unconsciously pull Maxie closer to her. “Bein’ part of the gang ain’t just books. It’s dangerous.”

“When she’s not being a smart ass, Tara, I like Faith.” Monica stood and dragged Drew to his feet. “She gets right to the point.” Stabbing a finger in Trish’s diresction, she said, “When this is all over, you’re taking me out for a night of decadence and drinks. A weekend retreat to the most exclusive club in California, no expense spared.”

Trish wasn’t fazed. In fact, she laughed. “If we make it through this alive, I’ll use the fifty dollars in my checking account for your fabulous weekend.”

“Should get ya’ a couple nights at the Sunnydale Motor Inn. Eighteen bucks a night,” Faith chipped in. “Leaves enough for a burger and fries so your boy toy don’t starve.”

“There you go.” Trish climbed out of her chair and stuck her tongue out at Monica. “All the finer things in life. Max, we need to throw a few things in a suitcase. I’m too old for slumber parties if I don’t have more than pajamas and a stuffed animal. And God forbid you don’t have your makeup kit handy. We are _not_ having a Maxie Meltdown in the morning.”

“You’ll just have to deal with no foundation and eyeliner, princess,” Monica told Drew. She cupped his cock through his jeans, and Faith winced at the way her fingers gripped and pulled on Drew’s denim-covered package. “And you know how I feel about tears.”

Hips tipping into Monica’s fingers, Drew murmured a hoarse, “Yes, Mistress. You love to see my tears.”

Faith watched Drew carefully. Sure, he’d said he wanted what Monica gave, but… Watching them pushed Faith’s buttons. If Drew had pulled away, flinched once, she would have kicked Monica through the front window. He leaned into the rough caresses. “I’ll add fucking Kleenex to the shopping list then. Don’t think Giles is got the House ready for your sniveling over lipstick. Anything else? Some nails and broken glass for you to chew on?” Faith asked Monica. She heard the roar of engines outside. “Better hurry. The Scoobymobiles are here.”

Seconds later, someone knocked on the door. “Hello?” Willow’s chirpy voice filled the living room. “Are you ready?”

“That kind of pep needs a gag.” Monica gripped Drew tighter, eyes locked on his mistress.

“First thing we ever agreed on,” Faith mumbled, letting Monica’s glare wash over her. “If we don’t let her in, it’s gonna get worse.” As if to prove her point, Willow rapped on the door again. She waited to see if anyone would let Willow in. No one moved. “Really? It’s your fuckin’ house,” she snarled at Maxie then stalked to the door. “Hold your horses, Red.”

“Oh! There you are!” Willow’s smile was blinding. “Come on. Buffy said we had to hurry.”

There was a complete lack of “hurry” behind Faith. “Let me get T,” Faith finally said. If she didn’t take the lead, they’d still be standing around the living room tomorrow.

“I do _not_ need you to _get_ me.” Tara glowered. She flailed her arms in a lame attempt to push out of the pocket of pillows and failed miserably.

Faith shrugged. “Sure. But I ain’t got time to wait for you to do it on your own. Thinkin’ we’ll all be as old as Giles if I don’t carry you to the car.” Ignoring Tara’s sexy growl of protest, she gently swung Tara into her arms. “Hey, pretty boy, think you can match that?”

She headed for the door as a gasp and girly squeal announced that Drew had risen to the challenge. “I will whip the skin from your back, boy, if you don’t put me down _right now_!” Monica snapped. Faith glanced over her shoulder. That sounded like an authentic threat.

Drew’s head _was_ bowed as he absorbed Monica’s anger. His eyes, though, twinkled as he raised his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mistress. You told me I should be more like Faith earlier. I remember. I should walk behind you. And now I’m trying to take care of you the way she takes care of Lady Tara. You’re the most important thing in my world.”

Someone made a gagging sound. Faith noticed the bright blush and wide-eyed surprise on Monica’s face before she had to look forward again to avoid banging Tara into the doorframe.

“What about it, Maxie?” Trish asked from behind them. “Am I important enough that you’ll carry me to the car, too?”

There was a grunt – and then another. “No. Not until you lay off the doughnuts, oh great Lady. My god, it’s like picking up a car,” Maxie complained. “I think I broke something.” She staggered past Faith, one hand pressed to her lower back.

“You really should beat her more often,” Monica said.

Faith almost agreed. That comment had been downright mean. “You don’t weigh enough,” she told Tara softly. “Like carryin’ a pillow.” A soft, warm, wonderful pillow.

_“You’re going to make me blush,”_ a pleased voice announced in Faith’s mind right before a pair of lips pressed against her throat.

_“Why?”_ Faith gently settled Tara into the back seat of a black Council SUV. It was heavily armored (because all vampires used rocket launchers, right?) with dark-tinted windows. _“’m only tellin’ the truth.”_ “B,” she said out loud, greeting the other Slayer who sat in the front passenger seat. The leader of the Retrieval Team was behind the wheel. She gave him a tight nod.

“Faith,” Buffy said in return. They shared a look. “Xan’s going with you and Willow in the other car. We’ll take Tara straight to the House.”

It was all in code. A code Faith understood. She was supposed to make sure Xander got home without a scratch, and in return, Buffy would take care of Tara. Good enough. “Yeah. T’s gonna need more ice and ya’ may have to tie her down. She don’t like to sit still.”

A tiny grin crossed Buffy’s face. “I’m sure Lydia or Janna would let me borrow a set of cuffs. Even with buckles, I think Xan’s are too big and heavy.”

“Ha. Ha.” Looking comically grumpy, Tara glared at Buffy (not Faith). “Don’t encourage her. She threatens me all the time. I’m having a hard time remembering which of us is the Dominant.”

Faith disagreed. At _this_ moment, Tara was fully Dommed-up and ready to rumble. Too bad the rest of the New Scoobies were waiting to climb into the vehicle. Not to mention that Willow was literally bouncing up and down next to the second SUV with Xander at her side. Must be some serious magical grocery shopping to get her _that_ wound up. “T?”

“I’ll be fine.” Tara stopped glaring at Buffy and gently pulled Faith in for a kiss. “I promise not to run around the house irritating Mrs. Summers, and I won’t make Buffy attempt to cuff me to the couch. Now go. Willow looks like she might explode.”

Another kiss was more important than Willow. Finally, though, Faith moved away from the SUV so that Drew could settle Monica next to Tara. He fussed and straightened her blouse and slacks until she slapped his hands away. Then he joined Faith. “I’ve never shopped in a magic store. Do you mind if I tag along?”

“Me, too?” Maxie had abandoned Trish, who’d been forced to climb into the vehicle on her own. “Trish is probably upset about the car comment. I need to give her time to remember she loves me.”

More like Trish needed to forget how much she wanted to toss Maxie over her lap until the sting of that “car comment” went away. “Knock yourself out.” Faith didn’t mention that a spanking from Trish might be more fun than watching Willow pick up every new spellbook and gripe how Janna. Maxie could discover that for herself. “We ready to roll?” All Fath wanted to do was get back to the House and check on Tara – who would steamroll Buffy into letting her be part of the research team without Faith there to control her.

The day got even better when Faith actually climbed into the second SUV. Agent Briggs was behind the wheel. And Becky was riding shotgun. “Hey,” she mumbled.

Briggs grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re holding a grudge? I _could_ have arrested you as a material witness when you bolted out of that hotel room. I have more questions which _you_ were refusing to answer.”

Even telling the same stories over and over again would be better than this trip. Faith didn’t say that. She grunted instead.

“We’re ready,” Willow announced needlessly once they were all seated and buckled in. She continued to wiggle excitedly as Briggs backed out of the driveway. They turned in the opposite direction of the vehicle holding Tara.

_“Do I need to come rescue you, my Faith?_ ” Tara’s mental voice was filled with laughter and a hint of despondency.

Faith latched onto that wistful emotion. _“Or I could bust outta here and race you to the House. Bet I’d get there first; I know all the shortcuts.”_ She enjoyed the bubbles of Tara’s laughter tickling her mind.

_“You need friends, my Faith. Friends are important. I’ll be ready and waiting for you when you get to the House.”_ The House. Tara hadn’t called it “home.” Faith liked that. A lot. _“I love you. Now stop scowling. It’s not as sexy as your smile or as cute as your dimples.”_

Those dimples popped out at Tara’s comment.

“New bond chats,” Xander interrupted from the other side of the back seat. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Buffy and I have _never_ had those. Especially at boring research parties.”

Willow giggled. “Like you’ve never had those in math class, either. Which is why you _never_ called Dr. Burke ‘my Lady” when he snuck up behind you while you were supposed to be taking a test last week.” Even Faith laughed at that, and Xander turned bright red, grumbling about how best friends were supposed to _keep_ your secrets, not tell them to the world. “You…uh…” Willow glanced at Faith, and then rushed on. “Youlookhappy.”

After a few months in Sunnydale, Faith was proficient enough in Willowbabble to get the gist of the comment. “Yeah.” She considered that. She was. Happy. “T’s the best.” Tara was better than Christmas and birthdays and being a Slayer all rolled into one perfect package. “Never thought I’d be so lucky, ya’ know?” In fact, she’d convinced herself that Tara could never want her after their night at the apartment.

_That_ got a squeal from Willow. “Oh, isn’t that cute?”

Slapping a hand over Willow’s mouth, Xander said, “I’m not sure cute and Faith go in the same sentence, Will. See that look in her eyes? Buffy has that, too. She gets it right before she stakes a vamp or cuts off a demon head. In case you missed the memo, there are zero vamps or demons here right now. Just you.”

Willow’s eyes widened over the top of his hand.

Ah, hell. Faith tried to back off the Slayer Stare. “Not much for ‘cute.’ I’m more the ‘sexy and dangerous’ kind.”

“Very sexy.” Xander’s hand left Willow’s mouth to cover his own.

“Bet that would make B get her ‘look’ on,” Faith teased. She knew without a doubt that Buffy was a jealous bitch when it came to her boy. To give him a minute to recover, she turned to Agent Brooks. “What’dya do to piss off your boss? Didn’t think subsitting was somethin’ federal agents did.”

In true Brooks’ style, the agent wasn’t ruffled by Faith’s jibe. “Somebody had to do it. Your Council crew was buried in books and conference calls, and Agent Moynahan threatened to turn in his badge if he had to put up with you again. I guess he didn’t take too kindly to being a food delivery driver last night.”

“Oops,” Faith said, with absolutely no sincerity.

“He ought to be glad Faith got him to drive us back to Faith’s house,” Becky offered. “Otherwise, I might have sat on the sidewalk and eaten all the food – and then Faith would have tossed me into traffic.”

Faith hadn’t thought of that option the night before. Of course, there wasn’t a lot of traffic in Sunnydale at night. Becky probably would have survived the experience. “Moynahan’s kind of wimpy for an agent. He marked wrong or somethin’?” The guy had been wearing a cuff on his left wrist, after all.

“I’ll be sure to ask him the next time I see him,” Brooks said drily. “Right after I take his weapon and put him in four-point restraints to keep him from killing me.” She pulled the SUV to the curb and killed the engine. “Here we go. Don’t be too long. I promised Councilman Giles I’d have you back safe and sound long before sunset.”

Since she was nearest the door, Faith hopped out first. “Hey, thought you said we were hittin’ the Magic Box?” They were on the opposite end of town from the crummy little magic store. In fact…

Before she could say anything more, Becky grabbed her arm. “We’re making a side trip. I told Scott about this place, about you and the Cubs,” she babbled at a speed only slightly slower than Willow’s normal cadence. “He called the head instructor this morning and talked to her about enrolling me while we’re in Sunnydale.”

Becky was going to be a Cub? No. That would be a nightmare. “Ain’t gonna have time with the Mayor on the run,” Faith said, grasping at straws. God, she’d have to tell Sam she couldn’t teach anymore if Becky signed up.

“I’m so excited!” Faith stared in horror as Becky wiggled and hopped from foot to foot like a mini-Willow.

“Me, too!” The Real Willow grabbed Faith’s other arm and helped Becky tow Faith into the dojo. No one was at the front desk, which wasn’t surprising since the lunch class was over and the evening classes were a couple of hours away. The empty desk didn’t stop either of the “Willows”, though. Faith stumbled as she was rushed toward the large main room where the classes were held.

Poor Becky was out of luck. Sam must have forgotten to lock the front door because all the lights were off in the main room. “Don’t look like…” Faith started.

“Surprise!” The lights came on, revealing Sam and a table full of wrapped gifts and a huge cake.

Brooks sauntered up as Faith simply stared. “You didn’t really think I’d subsit for a shopping trip, did you?” She winked. “Congratulations, kid. She’s all yours,” Brooks continued in a louder voice to Sam. Then she left.

“You didn’t invite us to the claiming so we didn’t get a chance to have a Bonding Party,” Willow told Faith. “So we’re doing it now. Happy bonding, and I _know_ you’re bondmate is just perfect for you.” With a gentle shove, Willow guided Faith to the table. “Go ahead. Open a present.”


	75. Chapter 75

Smoothing down her brand new Sunnydale Martial Arts Academy sweatshirt, Faith stared at the final piece of cake.

“I’ll fight you for it.” Xander playfully jostled her as he pretended to make a run for the food table. “Buffy and I picked a date for the collaring. This is my last big meal before it’s all bird food. I have to fit into the outfit she picked out for me.” Patting his flat stomach, he said, “No more doughnuts or pizza or trips to the DMP. I may starve to death.”

“What’s B gonna feed ya’? Ain’t like there’s much else in Sunnydale.” It was a weired replay of Faith’s conversation with Becky.

As if conjured by Faith’s stray thought, Becky appeared – and made deciding who got the last piece of cake a moot point. She shoveled in a huge bite and then grinned, completely ignoring the way icing and cake particles squished between her teeth. Becky darted off with the remaining cake in hand.

“Don’t think ya’ got to worry about the collaring suit, X-Man.” Faith shook her head. “Kid needs a keeper.”

“She stole my cake,” Xander lamented. His lower lip quivered just slightly. “I could already taste it. All that processed sugar and the icing. She’s _evil_.”

Evil might be a tad harsh. “The kid did say breathin’ made her hungry,” Faith commented. “Bet if ya’ asked, Mrs. S’d make you another one. Ain’t they usually got one whole cake just for the sub at a collaring? Won’t matter if you bust a seam then.” Faith had been to only one formal collaring back in her days at the Boston HQ. “You and B finally do the deed, I’ll plant myself in front of the cake table. The kid won’t get _near_ your special cake.”

A little of Xander’s pout faded. “Won’t you be hungry, too?” he asked.

“Duh. But I got more self-control than the kid.” Faith hesitated, not sure how to continue with what she wanted, and _needed,_ to say. “Um. Hey.” She saw him straighten, the last of the pout gone. Crap. Why did saying “nice” things make her sound like a moron? “Thanks,” she got out in an embarrassed mumbled. “For the party. And the gifts.”

He shoulder bumped her. “Getting bonded deserves food and fun. Even you.” Faith had always suspected Xander wasn’t as goofy and he often seemed. He proved it as he lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Faith. Sorry that it took us this long to realize you needed more than a ‘welcome to the Hellmouth’ and a wave. We let the Council abuse you; I won’t forgive myself for that. Ever.”

Finding it suddenly hard to breath, Faith blinked rapidly.

As if sensing how much Faith would hate to fall apart in front of him, Xander turned away and clapped his hands. “Let’s clean up, boys and girls! We have magic things to buy and an evil demon to kill before he eats us, town and all.”

His clowning, as usual, drew laughter and groans – and gave Faith the second she needed to pull her emotions back together. Willow wasn’t so happy about his actions. “We don’t have to go yet. You’re turning into a stick in the mud, oldest friend of mine. Where’s the daredevil boy I used to know and love?”

One good turn deserved another. “Nah. X-man’s right.” Drew and Maxie were already stuffing food and wrapping paper trash into a garbage can. She moved up to help them. “Let’s grab your gear and head to the House. I wanna make sure T ain’t pushed Buffy over the edge with her ‘I can do what I want’ shit.”

“Mistress would help hold Lady Tara down,” Drew chimed in with a grin. “At least until your Lady turned on the magic fireworks like she did at the claiming. Apparently, even Mistress won’t take on someone who glows.”

“What?” Willow bounced over, with min-Willow a step behind.

Maxie winked at Faith before taking up the story. “I think Tara didn’t like the witch mucking in her mind. One minute, it’s just the normal bond verification and the next? Boom! Like Tara turned on a force field around her and Faith.”

Really? Faith hadn’t realized Tara’s magic had been visible at the claiming ceremony. Of course, she’d been too busy dealing with the pounding in her head and the feel of Tara in her mind. Faith avoided thinking too hard about that day by turning to Sam. He’d taken a position leaning against the Gift Table. “You’re closin’ down until we take care of the Mayor.” She didn’t bother asking. The Cubs and their parents would be sitting ducks. Even the upper belts wouldn’t last against Trick and his crew.

“We’ve added additional security. The agent who brought you today assigned a team to watch the school in the evenings.” Sam grinned when Faith scowled. “We’ve never closed, not for a single apocalypse. This is no different. Well, now I have a Slayer on staff. I figured she’d help keep us demon-free.”

“Damn right – if I wasn’t stuck in the House tryin’ to find a way to win this time.” Faith wasn’t backing down. “You got me, though. And I say the only way to stay alive is to lock the doors and stay the fuck home.”

She held his measuring gaze. Sam had to know she wasn’t joking. “Fair enough. I hired an expert in demons; I should be smart enough to listen to her.” He pushed away from the table. “How long do you think this fight will last? Would additional fighters help? You haven’t met all of the upper belts or instructors. We have lots of law enforcement backgrounds in the ranks.”

Despite Faith’s contempt for the Council, enough of their traditional teachings had sunk in. It felt wrong to think about accepting Sam’s non-Slayer assistance. Then Faith glanced at Xander and Drew, who were teasing Willow about the smear of frosting decorating the front of her shirt. At Maxie, still regaling Becky with Claiming Ceremony stories. “Let me talk to B. She’s runnin’ the show.”

“Fair enough. I’ll call the House and let her know how to get in touch with me or Lyn.” Sam waved at the bags of trash and the empty tables. “I’ll take care of the rest. Do what you need to do, Faith.”

With a nod, Faith took a step toward the gang clustered near the door.

“Faith!” Sam’s voice stopped her in her tracks. Eyes intent, he said, “Be careful. The Cubs would stage a coup if they thought I’d let you get hurt.”

An attack of mini-ninjas bent on revenge was nothing to laugh about. “First rule of bein’ a Slayer: Don’t get dead,” Faith assured him. It was the _only_ rule of being a Slayer she’d ever followed.

***

“I’m fine. I don’t need more medication,” Tara recited by rote when Buffy made a return trip past her seat on the coach. It was the fourth circuit in less than fifteen minutes. The twentieth since she and the rest of the New Council Crew had arrived at the House. “Sit down, sweetie.”

“Are you sure…” It was like they were reenacting a scene from _Groundhog Day_. Buffy read her lines right on cue.

Patience was overrated. Tara contemplated growling or throwing a tantrum. Satisfying – probably. Helpful? Not so much. “Would you please hand me that book?” She pointed to one on the far side of the room at Trish’s feet.

“I checked that one, Tar.” Trish wasn’t playing her part by distracting Buffy. “And fifty of its closest friends.” Trish stretched. “What about this clue Faith said you had? We haven’t heard anything about it. Did it fall through? Or is there another reason I’m learning more than any normal person should have about magical transformation and the creepy, disgusting things the good Mayor might have eaten, drunk, or painted on his body? The last, by the way, totally creeps me out.”

Finally derailed from her apparent mission to drive Tara mad, Buffy flopped onto an empty spot on the floor. “Giles is on the phone with some Watcher in Hawaii. Something about an archaeological dig and bones. I got lost about ten words in. When I asked them to break the whole thing down into tiny words in real English, Giles banished me from the room like a Little.”

“Did you stomp your feet?” Monica cocked her head. “I mean, you _are_ small enough to make that Little thing work.”

There was a pregnant silence. “Tara, did you explain to your friends the way things work here? At the Slayer House?” Buffy picked up a discarded scroll and rolled it open slowly. “The Slayer House where I’m the Senior Slayer?”

Tara winked at Monica. She’d (perhaps) been around Faith too much. Teasing Buffy was fun. “You’d look cute in a pink dress. Princess Buffy.” Buffy’s Slayer Stare was an upgrade on Faith’s. Steering the conversation into a safer direction, Tara asked, “If you don’t know all the details yet, why send half the research team to the Magic Box? What aren’t you t-telling us?”

“I don’t know if I want to spill now.” Buffy leaned back in her seat and glared at Monica. “I’m not in a friendly, sharing mood.”

A mini standoff ensued until Trish snorted. “Great. I’m stuck in a room with demonic research books and cranky Dominants comparing the size of their whips. Life just doesn’t get any better.” Pointing a finger at Monica, she said, “Drew isn’t here to sew you together when Buffy slices you into tiny pieces with her pinky nail.

The intensity cracked as both Buffy and Monica laughed. “OK, fine. I’ll stop trying to kill Monica with my laser-like glare. At least for today. God forbid her boy isn’t here to kiss her boo boos better.” She turned her head. “What’s up, Giles? Did your friend have something useful?”

Tara hadn’t heard Giles approach. Struggling to turn so she could see him, Tara ground her teeth in frustration when Buffy hopped up and helped her. Goddess, she would be glad to get back to “normal” so people would stop hovering.

“Yes.” Giles cleared his throat and took off his glasses. “And no.” Squeaks emanated with each energetic pass of his handkerchief over the lenses. “I’ve got everything set up in the Library. Perhaps we could adjourn there?”

“No can do,” Buffy refused immediately. “Tara isn’t up to climbing the stairs.”

Very true. Tara was _almost_ ready to give the stairs a try, though. Buffy’s attitude grated on her nerves worse than the rub of her shirt over the healing cuts on her back.

 _“Don’t even think about it. Might have to forget I got your cuff wrapped around my arm if ya’ get off that couch.”_ Faith’s voice was husky and determined in Tara’s mind. “ _We’re, like, a block away. I’ll carry you if you **have** to move.”_

“I’ll be up in a minute,” Tara told the group. “Go on up. I’m sure it will take me a few extra minutes.” She met Buffy’s shocked and outraged glance with a tiny smile. “I keep telling you I’m not helpless.”

Trish hopped out of her chair. “Come on, Buffy. You won’t get anywhere with her. I’ve had loads of practice reading Tara’s moods. Max calls this one the ‘Nope. Not gonna happen’ mood. It’s a lost cause. When she falls down the stairs, you can tell her ‘I told you so’ as you dial 9-1-1.”

Still standing in the middle of the room, Buffy didn’t move to join Trish and Giles.

“I do hope we’ll see you both soon. Shall I send word to the local hospital? I daresay you are evenly matched, Slayer versus witch.” Giles winked at Tara before trotting up the stairs with surprising energy.

Only Monica stayed behind. “Go at it, girls. It’s been a long couple of days. I could use the entertainment.” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she got more comfortable in her chair. “The only thing missing is popcorn. My worthless slut of a boy knows just how to get the butter just right. I’ll have to punish him for picking your Faith over me, his Mistress.” Monica crossed her arms over her chest. “Well? Where are the fireballs and flying stakes?”

There was something… “You’re a horrible person,” Buffy finally said and then laughed. “Drew told you, didn’t he?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Monica’s response coincided with the front door springing open. “How could I possibly know the cavalry was about to arrive and save you from your own stupidity?”

“Think she just called ya’ stupid, B.” Faith’s grin was charming. Tara drank in her energy and unaccustomed happiness. The way her (new?) sweatshirt clung to her body.

Tara must have been thinking too loudly. Faith’s gaze slid to her, eyes twinkling. _“See something you like, T?”_

The rest of the room faded around them. Tara focused solely on Faith. _“I **might** be interested in the sexy Slayer wearing my cuff.”_ Her thoughts gentled. She enjoyed upbeat tenor of Faith’s thoughts and feelings. She held out her arms, waiting for Faith to pick her up.

 _“Gonna be as bad as Monica the Bitch soon. Already expectin’ me to do everything for you.”_ Out loud, Faith asked, “Ready to read more books and choke on the smell of mold and nine million-year old leather?” She slipped her arms carefully under Tara and lifted. “Glad you waited, T. Fuckin’ Briggs drives slower than Giles.”

Buffy’s growl interrupted Tara’s attempt to nibble the tiny strip of skin peeking out of the neck of Faith’s sweatshirt.

“Guess you didn’t get the memo, Senior Slayer.” Monica gripped Drew by the hair and dragged him toward the stairs. “You took too long, princess. I told you no more than an hour with your little friends. Bonding parties are _not_ more important than taking care of my every whim.”

“You knew. Both of you knew!” Buffy spun and grabbed Xander by the arms. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I looked like an idiot. I was about to go toe to toe with someone who could literally turn me into a rat!”

 _“Drama much?”_ Tara kept her comment private.

Faith’s chest rumbled with suppressed laughter. _“Just wait. If B and Red get goin’ at the same time, ain’t no one safe. Mrs. S locked ‘em in Giles’ office the last time it happened. Said she couldn’t take the squeals and shit anymore and they could come out when they were back to normal.”_

Joyce’s comments probably lacked Faith’s very special word selection. However, Tara could easily picture the older woman slamming the door and turning the key on Willow and Buffy in mid-tantrum. _“Did you at least enjoy your party, sweetie?”_

The arms holding her tightened, and a wave of pleasure/embarrassment/joy. “Yeah.” Faith’s whispered answer was more squeak than actual speech.

Snuggling closer, Tara didn’t push for more. It was enough that Willow’s surprise party had been a success. She closed her eyes and basked in the burgeoning acceptance and sense of _rightness_ from Faith.

The rest of the group insisted on continuing their banter around her. “If you weren’t so handsome, I might not forgive you,” Tara heard Buffy say.

“You like my grin, too. Don’t forget that part, Buff. It’s my favorite.” Tara opened her eyes, mood broken, as Xander sprinted past, Buffy right at his heels. “Admit it.” They galloped all the way to the third floor, two people making the noise of an entire herd.

Monica was the first person to verbalize Tara’s emotions. “They make me tired.”

“Get used to it.” Faith didn’t sound very empathetic to Monica’s plight. “You’re part of the crew now. Suck it up; eat a doughnut and read another fucking book. Townies count on us to keep on ‘em safe. You can sleep when the Mayor’s dead.”

And just like that, everything was back in perspective.

“I liked her better when she scowled and stomped and didn’t say anything,” Monica griped.

Tara finally kissed that exposed spot of Faith’s neck and smiled in satisfaction at the hitch in Faith’s breathing. “You said that before. I like her all the time. Any way I can get her.” A sense of embarrassed pleasure bubbled through the bond. _“All day. Every day. I want you, my Faith. Just the way you are.”_

Another rush of pleasure flowed from Faith’s mind, backed by a tiny drop of…belief? Confidence?

The rest of the “ride” to the Library was quiet. When they arrived, the large room was far more crowded than any other research party she’d attended. Crowded yet far less packed than poor Trish’s living room. The Library was _designed_ for this type of work.

The Watchers clustered near the far corner near a small desk and whiteboard. Faith didn’t notice (or didn’t care, Tara suspected) that all the seats were taken. She stalked up to a loveseat and snapped. “Move!” The baby Slayer who’d been sprawled there scrambled up so fast she stumbled over her own feet.

 _“That wasn’t very nice.”_ But the loveseat was comfortable, especially with Faith as a backrest.

“You said you like me the way I was; ain’t never been nice,” Faith whispered. Her warm breath brushed Tara’s ear and the back of her neck. Tara tilted her head back, shivering at the sensation. Goddess. Why did Faith have to be so sexy? And why were they stuck in this Library with a million people and not alone in a bed?

As Tara desperately searched for something, _anything_ to keep her from ripping Faith’s clothes off (was that a chuckle coming through the bond?), she saw Becky sitting alone and mostly hidden behind a towering stack of books. The young girl’s hands gripped her knees so tightly that her fingers were white. She’d been fine when they’d gotten back to the House a few minutes ago. What could have happened?

Tara started to tell Faith, to climb off the couch.

That’s when one of the new Watchers turned his head, eyes locked on Becky. He straightened and took one step in Becky’s direction. Stopped. Stared at Becky for a long minute. Then he turned back to the cluster of Watchers.

Becky shrank farther into her corner.

“I believe we are ready to begin.” Lydia took charge of the meeting. Tara listened to her clipped tones with only half her attention. What was wrong with Becky? Had something happened during their shopping trip or at the party?

 _“Someone ain’t payin’ attention._ ” Faith poked Tara in the side. _“Giles gets pissy if we ask somethin’ he already talked about. You even got a clue what this Worth guy found?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience in waiting on this one. I'm really struggling to balance life, work, and Muse. Although I still intend to post every two weeks...I may need to expand my timelines. I will keep updated as I have a better picture of how things are going. ~rebelrsr


	76. Chapter 76

_“I don’t need to know about that ‘Worth guy.’ There are experts – like you – who can pay attention.”_ But Tara wiggled farther into Faith’s embrace and tuned into the conversation.

The scruffy Watcher had taken over from Giles. His voice lacked the clipped cadence of Britain, rolling gently through the room. “…many years of study. It was only recently, when Scott reached out regarding Olvikan, that Professor Worth made the connection.” Turning to a series of pictures taped to one of the bookshelves, he said, “The remains discovered on the island of Kauai _aren’t_ from a dinosaur.”

Apparently all Watchers needed theatrics. The new Watcher paused and looked at his audience expectantly. Buffy’s badly muffled sigh was loud in the silence. Tara wanted to follow suit. Weren’t they under a time crunch? Had she missed a memo pushing the possible end of the world back a few years?

“And I thought me and B were bad.” Faith’s nearly-soundless whisper pushed warm breath over Tara’s neck and ear. Dear Goddess. This was serious, world-saving business, but that breath was all Tara could focus on – which _might_ have been why Faith blew another puff of air. “Thought Dominants had self-control. Ain’t that what your book said?”

Well, yes. It had. It had also warned about the evils of brats and submissives who Topped from the bottom. Faith was pushing all of Tara’s buttons (and Tara was enjoying that, very much). Unfortunately, it couldn’t continue. One, there really _was_ a serious conversation going on. And, two, Faith – and Tara – needed to remember who wore the Dominance marker in their relationship.

Sitting up hurt. Not as much as leaving the warmth and support of Faith’s embrace. She ignored the way Faith tried to grab her and the outraged, _“What the fuck are you doing?”_ that singed her mind. With a careful amount of wiggling and scooting, Tara made it to the far end of the love seat. It was cold there.

“Why do we care about the bones?” Buffy’s question coincided with Tara meeting Faith’s eyes. Eyes filled with confusion and hurt.

Tara hesitated.

“We believe those bones are a demon similar to Olvikan. The demon Mayor Wilkins hopes to become after his Ascension.” Giles and the new Watcher gestured to the whiteboard and more pictures. Tara kept her attention on Faith, though. On the way Faith’s shoulders had tightened. Hunched. The droop to Faith’s lips.

They’d spent so little time talking. Tara regretted her lack of confidence now more than ever. Faith didn’t understand her error because Tara had never provided expectations on behavior. In fact, Tara had reinforced over and over that she wanted Faith to continue to be herself.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Why couldn’t bonded relationships work the way they did in training manuals and the movies? Shouldn’t having a conduit into your partner’s mind and heart take all the work out of love?

Apparently, all those writers and actors lived in a fantasy world. Tara had to love Faith in the _real_ world. A world fraught with pitfalls, mistakes, and misunderstandings. _“Self-control?_ ” She stopped hiding behind her Dominance and let Faith glimpse the maelstrom of desire roiling just below the surface of her control. _“Why do you think I moved, sweetie? I’d lose so many Dominance points if I stayed in your arms that I’d have to move my cuff._ ”

Laughter replaced confusion in Faith’s eyes, and Tara got lost in the warmth. _“I’d be right there to help ya’ earn ‘em back._ ”

By being more of a brat, Faith’s complex emotions implied. Maybe Faith _had_ been trying to control Tara with all the teasing…because she needed something more from Tara? What? Tara ignored the rolling waves of voices in the room in order to more closely observe Faith.

Faith, who liked to push for reaction. Faith, who commented every single time Tara fell back into her Shy Tara persona. Faith, who blossomed whenever “Lady” Tara came out.

Lady Tara.

Testing her theory, as well as using the opportunity to begin the first step toward formalizing the rules and boundaries of their dynamic, Tara arched one brow. _“And how will you do that, my Faith? Those points are mine. Even if I moved my cuff, which of us would be in charge?”_

Faith’s shiver was easy to see. So was the instinctive dip of her chin and the immediate rebound.

Hmmm. _“Answer the question, Slayer._ ” Tara pressed her small advantage.

Tara’s victory came in the form of a name. _Her_ name. _“You, Tara.”_ Now _Tara_ shivered. Goddess, she loved the way Faith’s husky mental voice caressed her name. Of course, the moment was over almost before it began. _“Gonna slide back over here now ya’ made your point?”_

Lady Tara didn’t wait for Shy Tara’s invitation. She narrowed her eyes at Faith and waited imperiously until Faith sighed and mumbled a mental apology. Much better. Feeling more in control, Tara slid back into Faith’s waiting arms because _she_ wanted to. Not because Faith had usurped any of those precious Dominance points.

Their mental battle of wills hadn’t taken long. Long enough for Tara to feel completely lost as she nestled against Faith’s chest, though.

“I wonder…” Lydia posed, one finger tapping her lips, as she stared at the display on the whiteboard. “Janna, is there anything magical we might try? While Buffy’s question was made in jest, we are still left with how best to replicate the power and heat of a volcanic eruption.”

Volcano? Tara silently groaned. She and Faith really needed better timing. What in the Goddess’ name had they missed?

“I…I don’t…” Janna stumbled over her answer.

“Lava can run between seven hundred and twelve hundred degrees Fahrenheit when it’s first ejected from a volcano.” Willow stepped in to save Janna but Tara didn’t think she was pleased to have this particular answer. “To…to give you some comparison, a gas fire ignites at about five hundred and fifty degrees.” Tara was used to Willow’s quick, energetic delivery, not the somber pace of _this_ information.

It cast a pall over the entire group. “So magic is out.” Buffy’s expression was strained; although, Tara thought she managed to hide most of her despair. “Any chance there’s a secret volcano in Sunnydale about to erupt?”

Giles stared at Buffy as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe Buffy had. Maybe they _all_ had. Tara felt Faith’s arms close convulsively around her. They couldn’t lose! She and Faith were finally putting their relationship together. Tara wasn’t losing that because the Mayor woke up one morning and decided to be a demon.

“Got to be a way,” Faith commented. _“You sure magic won’t work? The Mayor was all twisted up about you.”_ Her emotions washed through Tara: fear, anger, helplessness, and a crushing need to protect Tara. Faith would try _anything_ to make sure the Mayor’s plan fizzled. “What about Noreen? She sets everything on fire.”

“The fire isn’t the point,” Willow clarified. “The _heat_ of the fire is. We could douse him in gasoline and light a match – except it’s not hot enough to kill him. Not at first. If we use Noreen instead of a match, he’d have time to put the fire out and…and kill her like he did Wes.”

“What about a flamethrower?” Xander glanced at Willow. “It uses a chemical to ignite. Would that be hotter than gas? And we could use more than one. Surround the Mayor and turn them all on at once.”

“Flamethrowers normally use an oil-based chemical – like gasoline or kerosene,” Maxie said, sounding very sure of her information. “That still leaves us with the problem of the ignition temperature. You need something a lot hotter from the minute you light it.”

Maxie shoved off Trish’s lap, ignoring Trish’s impatient command to sit down. “There are chemicals that would be perfect for what you need. They burn hotter and faster than most accelerants.”

“Max!” Trish usually enjoyed Maxie’s independence and her habit of saying what she wanted. Tonight, though, Tara watched her friend frown at her submissive. “I’m sorry,” Trish said to the entire room. “I think we’ve been at this too long. If you don’t mind, Maxie and I’ll take a quick break.”

Their sudden feud grew more heated as Maxie turned her back on Trish. “I’m not going anywhere. This is important, and I can help. My brothers are Marines.” If Maxie proposed they call in the tanks again, Tara wondered if Trish would ever let Maxie leave the house again. “Winnie’s a SEAL and he knows all about blowing things up. I bet if we called him up, he could tell us what to use.”

Winnie? Not Thad? He was the one Maxie threatened to call any time Trish didn’t let her do what she wanted. “Well, I…” Giles hemmed and hawed.

After several false starts, Scott stepped in. He was so very different than Giles’ traditionalism. Tara marveled at the difference. “If we weren’t at war with the Council leaders, we’d have our own specialists.” He grimaced. “But we’ve broken so many rules already, what’s one more?”

“See?” Maxie turned to Trish. “ _He_ doesn’t think I’m crazy! Or out of line.” Jaw tight, she marched across the room and picked up the phone.

“Trouble in paradise,” Faith murmured in Tara’s ear.

No. Trish and Maxie often argued over Maxie’s behavior; the added stress of saving the world could account for the unusual heat in the bickering this time. “I’m not worried about them,” Tara whispered back. “Maxie’s right. We need all the help we can get; she seems to have the best plan so far. Why _not_ call her brother?”

“Look at Giles and think about that.” Faith turned Tara’s head with one hand. “He ain’t with the Council no more and he still follows the rules.” Giles stared at Maxie in open shock and disbelief. “Tellin’ Quentin to take a flyin’ leap is one thing. The bastard hurt a lot of us, and he threatened B. No way is Giles gonna let that happen. But using someone that ain’t a Watcher’s different.”

Giles didn’t stop Maxie, though. Neither did Trish. “Hi, Yancy. It’s Max. Is Winnie home? Tell him it’s important because I know he ducks my calls.” There was a pause. “I can hear him in the background. I’ve got a roomful of people here waiting for him to get on the phone,” Maxie snapped. “Just because he never approved of Trish doesn’t mean he can ignore the fact that I’m his sister and I need his help!”

Tara saw Trish wince. At Maxie’s sudden volume or the comment about her suitability as Maxie’s Dominant? Poor Trish. Tara had known there was some kind of rift between Maxie and most of her family. She hadn’t realized that Trish was the reason.

Yancy must have handed the phone over to Winnie. Maxie calmed slightly. “Win, I’m working with the Slayer’s Council right now. We need some help with chemical fires.”

Before she could explain further, Willow waved to get Maxie’s attention. “Can he do a video chat? I can set it up.”

With a nod, Maxie acknowledged the question. “Are you in your office? My friends want to talk with you on the computer. I know you’ve got all the latest toys. If Willow dials you or whatever, the conversation will be better. You’ll be able to see I’m not making this up.” It sounded like an old argument. Tara had a vision of a pint-sized Maxie as a child telling tall tales to her big brothers.

“Ask him to log into this site.” Willow scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Maxie before grabbing her own laptop. She set the small computer on a table in the middle of the room and attached a heavy cord to one of the openings on the back. “Janna, will you please get the projector?” Two smaller cords plugged into other spots on the laptop.

Janna moved to a concealed cabinet on one wall. Giles pressed a series of buttons by the desk.

Voila! The Library turned into a home movie theater, complete with a large projector screen that descended from the ceiling and covered the large window overlooking the back yard. For a group that hated technology, the Council had spared no expense.

 _“You got to be kidding_.” Faith laughed in Tara’s mind; her lips turned into a grin against Tara’s neck. “ _B said Giles squealed like Willow was tryin’ to kill him when she gave him the price on this shit.”_ A hint of mischief joined the laughter. “ _Me and Xan snuck in here once to watch a movie.”_

A movie. From the overtones in Faith’s emotions, it hadn’t been a blockbuster comedy. _And should I tell Buffy about this movie_? Tara asked, playing a hunch.

A mental sputter and then some rapid backpedaling rewarded her stab in the dark. “ _No! I mean, it wasn’t… The boy needed ta know…”_

Tara’s giggles were completely inappropriate in the tense Library. Yet nothing she did prevented them. Turning her face into Faith’s shoulder, Tara tried to smother them to no avail. Luckily, no one appeared to mind or to think Tara had gone insane.

Marlee said, “I like your crew, Rupert. Not all sober or playing Chicken Little. The world’s about to end? Laugh.”

The rest of the room joined Tara’s laughter, which somehow helped her regain control. “It is far more effective than crying, as Buffy is wont to remind me.” Giles glanced at Buffy with a fond smile. “Now that we are all in the proper frame of mind, perhaps we could give Maxine’s brother a call? As much as I like to feign omnipotence, I fear reality is perhaps a harsher Mistress than my Lady.”

Lydia cocked an eyebrow but a pleased smile lightened her normally stern features. “Rupert, you have spent too much time with the children. Stop playing to the audience.”

With a dip of his head, Giles stepped out of the way. Willow took his place. She plugged and typed and pressed buttons on a remote. Fiddled with a large video camera that she then set on a bookshelf across from her laptop. Minutes later, an image sprang to life on the Library projector screen.

The man was whipcord thin, like a Greyhound Tara had once seen running in a park near downtown. “Good evening.” His voice was deep and held more of the Deep South than Maxie’s. A Southern gentleman dressed in a stiffly-starched white shirt with a no-nonsense black tie.

“Hi!” Willow waved. “You must be Maxie’s Winnie. Thanks for taking the call.”

She might have gone on babbling if Giles hadn’t stepped smoothly in front of her. “My name is Rupert Giles, Senior Watcher for the Slayer’s Council in Sunnydale, California. Your sister thought that you might be able to shed some light on our current situation.” 


	77. Chapter 77

The conversation that followed Giles’ announcement left Tara’s head spinning. Chemicals, accelerants, ignition temperatures, and burn rate. She _tried_ to follow along.

“You’re making this more complicated than it really is,” Winnie finally summed up the lengthy conversation. “True, the initial temperature of the fire might be an issue – but only if your setup is faulty. I doubt even an invincible demon could survive a ring of flamethrowers aimed his way. As long as _your_ troops could hold off his reinforcements to get the job done.”

Tara understood _that_ point with no problem. She also completely understood Winnie’s next comment. “I checked the supply inventory at the Sunnydale Armory, though. Only one flamethrower on site, and it’s a museum piece.”

For once, not even Buffy or Faith had a smart remark.

“What’s our best option?” Maxie asked. She’d climbed back into Trish’s lap once the video conference started. Unlike Tara, she appeared to be following the technical conversation with ease.

Winnie stared at the room through from the projector screen. “With the supplies in inventory, I’d recommend an incendiary device. A bomb,” he clarified. “Something with stable reactants so you can move them around safely. The only problem with most incendiaries is finding an ignition source.”

“There might be _one_ larger problem,” the new Watcher interjected. “We don’t actually know where the Mayor is.”

“Then you definitely need something mobile and easy to deploy.” Winnie looked away from the camera for a minute. “Yancy, honey, bring me that cell phone, please. I’ll need to make some calls.” He turned back to the video conference. “One of the officers at the Armory went to the Naval Academy with me. Considering your target is the Mayor, you’ll need allies you can rely on. I’ll give Colonel Markham a call and have him join you. You’re at the official Slayer’s House?”

Giles was definitely unhappy. His expression settled into mulish lines. “We are quite capable…”

“No, Giles, we aren’t,” Buffy contradicted. “We’re the opposite of capable right now. Winnie, please ask your friend to come to the House.” She appeared older. Harder. The Senior Slayer was no longer playful. “I’d like to make sure that whoever shows up is really your friend. Is there something we can ask him? A way for us to know the Mayor didn’t replace him?”

Winnie nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t recommend that. When Colonel Markham arrives, please ask him how I like my grog.” For the first time, Winnie’s expression lightened. When he smiled, the family resemblance to Maxie was easy to see. “Only Markham would ever know, it’s from our Academy days, when he was my Master of Punch.”

Even _Giles_ was confused. He joined in the round of glances and shrugs in the Library.

Luckily, Winnie continued to talk. “The correct answer is pizza, grass from Warden Field, water from Santee Basin, hot sauce, and rice crispies.” Proving he had seen their confusion despite the visual limitations of the camera, Winnie said, “Grog is part of a military tradition. The ingredients have special meaning to the unit involved. Trust me. Only Markham and I would be able to answer.”

The call ended a few minutes later. Time reset to the moment Faith carried Tara into the Library. Watchers huddled and conversed in low tones. Becky was still curled in a corner. And everyone else stared numbly at books and scrolls.

Tara glanced at Becky. Then at Faith. This was their chance to steal some alone time. To talk. Or simply cuddle. Yet…

***

Faith had bonded to a Willow Wanna Be. She could _feel_ Tara’s mind running in circles like a hamster on a wheel. No one should think that hard. Stifling a sigh, Faith slid carefully out from behind Tara. She was so losing her edge, all because of one sexy, cray-nice witch.

“Hey, kid!” she snapped at Becky. As much as she wanted to take Tara to one of the bedrooms and study more than monsters, Faith knew _Tara_ was all wound up over the baby Slayer. That meant _she_ had to find out what the fuck was wrong with Becky – and fix it. “Stop tryin’ to hide. You’re the newbie. It’s your job to get shit. T needs more ice.” She stalked over and hauled Becky to her feet. “Come on. I’ll show you where to find the kitchen so you can get it on your own next time.”

Becky stared at Faith before dropping back to the floor.

What the hell? Scowling to hide her sudden and very real concern, Faith nudged Becky with her foot. “Thought you were part of the crew. Gonna be a Cub. Wantin’ to stay in Sunnydale. Means ya’ gotta pull your weight. Come on.” She held out a hand. “Take a whole five minutes and then you can sit and pout or whatever as soon as we get back.”

Faith thought she might have to get rough. Becky stared at her hand without moving. Faith wiggled it. “Becky?” Some of Tara’s worry settled like a rock in her stomach. She didn’t push for an answer, though. Instead, she just gripped Becky’s shirt collar and hauled her to her feet again. “Come on, kid,” she said more softly. She kept a tight grip and dragged the younger Slayer out of the Library.

“You hungry? That cake was a whole coupla hours ago.” Letting go of Becky’s collar, Faith poked a finger into Becky’s side. “Thought I heard a growl or two while Winnie – girly fuckin’ name for a Marine – was babblin’ about bombs. Maybe we oughta just turn _you_ loose on the Mayor. He’d think some big ass monster was after him and run all the way out of Sunnydale.”

The kid barely smiled. This was something way serious. They hit the stairs with Becky slightly behind Faith. Faith let that pass. As long as Becky didn’t stop altogether (or make a break for the front door), this would work. Faith was feeling her way. Becky had been bouncing and giggling at the dojo less than three hours ago. “You know, T’s been teaching me all kinds of shit since we met. Even before the whole bond thing.”

Becky stumbled and Faith grabbed her before she tumbled down the stairs. The younger girl was _pale_. “Like, T’s big on friends.” As she set Becky’s feet back on the stair treads and watched to make sure the girl didn’t trip again, she said, “Maxie and Trish kinda bully her; keep her from hidin’ out alone. Now T does the same for me.” Faith grinned and finally saw Becky rebound enough to giggle. “OK. I guess she ain’t got to shove me outta the house.”

The first floor was quiet. Clean. Faith smelled bleach and a ton of other chemicals. None of that kept her from seeing phantom images of Kendra and Wes sprawled in pools of blood as she hurried through the living room toward the kitchen.

“You got friends?” Faith resumed the one-sided conversation as soon as they got to the kitchen. The blood was gone there, too. Someone, probably Joyce, had baked cookies recently. The smell of warm chocolate and vanilla eclipsed the harsh chemical cleansers.

Becky climbed onto a barstool at the island. So much for helping grab ice. “I guess,” she mumbled, in a voice more reminiscent of Faith at her worst than Becky’s normal hyperspeed chatter.

“Better than me,” Faith confessed, trying not to watch Becky too noticeably. _“Shit was easier before you_ ,” she bitched mentally at Tara. _“I hated everybody; didn’t have to worry about how the rest of the gang felt.”_

_“You’ll be fine, sweetie._ ” Tara’s mental voice mocked Faith’s whining. _“I could always send Willow to help out.”_

Tara was heartless. Faith sputtered mentally at that horrible threat. Willow would no doubt scare Becky into running with one of her long-winded babbling fits. She turned her back (figuratively, of course) on Tara. “Guess I’m your friend. I mean, you’re a Cub, right? And a Slayer. Makes Buffy a friend, too. And Willow kinda latches on to everyone. Mrs. S.” Faith considered that. “Nah. Joyce is a mom. But Tara’s a friend.”

Becky didn’t say anything. She sat quietly while Faith raided the cabinets for Ziploc baggies and a garbage bag. “Thing is, if ya’ got a problem, kid, the whole gang’ll help you out.” The irony of her advice wasn’t lost on Faith (or Tara, from the giggle bubbling through the link).

Fresh out of ideas, Faith fell silent. She should have invited Drew on this little trip. He was much better than Becky at stuffing ice into bags. “What’s it like?” Becky asked suddenly and with no other introduction.

“What’s what like?” Faith kept her attention on bagging the last of the ice and wiping up the water that had managed to drip on the floor and the counters as ice melted during the procedure.

She heard Becky shuffle her feet. “Bonding.”

Faith went on full alert, but she tried to hide that. It was hard, since she’d cleaned everything and the ice was all ready for the trip upstairs. She pretended to hunt for any remaining food in the pantry. “Fucking awesome.” Then she spun to face Becky and decided to give her the _real_ story. “And scary as shit. I mean, ain’t like you expect somebody to show up in your head with free rein to all your thoughts and feelings.” Was _that_ what was eating the kid? There had been no sign of anything wrong at the dojo or when they actually picked up the magical supplies that had been the excuse for the trip across town.

“Tara’s not scary,” Becky said scornfully.

With a chuckle, Faith hopped up to sit on the counter so she could observe Becky. “She sure as hell can be, kid. When’s she’s all Dommed up, she gives B a run for her money. But, yeah, you’re right, too. She’s not scary. I only thought she was. Never wanted a bond. Sure as fuck didn’t want anyone sittin’ in my head.”

Speaking of someone in her head… Tara was fully in Faith’s mind at the moment. _“Did you get lost, my Faith? Do I need to come rescue you from Becky?”_

Please. Faith tapped her head and met Becky’s eyes. “Hang tight. T’s checking up on me. If I don’t answer, she’s crazy enough to come down the stairs after me.” A watered-down version of Becky’s usual grin greeted her comment. _“Nah. Think I can handle the kid._ ” She hoped Tara could see past the teasing answer to the more serious worry. _“Tryin’ to get her to talk to me. Might be freakin’ over a bond.”_

_“You **are** the expert at that,”_ Tara mocked. Before Faith could get too insulted, Tara went on. _“She’s one of your Cubs; I know you’ll take good care of her. If you need me, reach, my Faith. I’ll make Buffy carry me down the stairs.”_

Oh, that was a tempting scenario. Buffy would bitch at being a beast of burden.

_“Faith…”_

With a sigh, Faith muttered, “Yes, Tara,” out loud. Then, directing her next grumble to Becky, she said, “Crazy witch. She was gonna help me with directions to the Library. Everyone’s a comedian.”

“You like to complain.” Becky was recovering. Her next smile lit up the kitchen. “You _enjoy_ being miserable. ‘I’m Faith.’” She stomped her feet and tried to scowl (unsuccessfully). “’Grrrr.’”

“Grrrr!” Faith shouted – and dove from the counter toward Becky. The younger girl squealed and moved too slowly to evade Faith’s fingers. The ear-piercing squeal turned to breathless giggles. “I’m Faith, and I’ll kick your skinny little ass every time, kid. Don’t forget it.” She upped the speed of the tickling for a minute, letting Becky writhe and twist and gasp and laugh, before moving away again.

“You…you…” Becky gasped as she dropped into a chair and rubbed her sides.

Cocky grin in place, Faith posed against the island. “Me, what? A badass bitch? I know that, kid. Nice to know you know it now, too.”

“Uh, excuse me. Is…Is everything alright in here? Do you need help?” Faith spun around, hands raised and ready to lash out, but it was only the new Watcher. He stood at the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Formal language without the British bite. Cute, if you liked human bears. From his scruffy beard to the thick patches of hair sticking out of his t-shirt collar, the guy was a furball.

“We’re good.” Faith dropped her hands and stretched. She needed to get back upstairs before the ice melted. Becky was better. Her job was done.

Except it wasn’t. Becky _had_ been better. Now she stared at the Watcher with wide, terrified eyes.

Fuck! Faith stalked across the kitchen and planted herself firmly between the Watcher and Becky. “You need somethin’? ‘Cause I got it all locked down in here.” She hoped her message was clear enough. Watchers could be awfully stupid for smart people. Crossing her arms, she flexed her muscles and dared him to make a move for Becky.

“Please.” Hands raised, the Watcher backed up a step. “I really didn’t mean to…”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get that.” With a fake smile, the Watcher turned and fled.

With a snort, Faith relaxed. “Wimp.” She glanced at Becky and decided to push. After all, no one had pushed _her_ when Tara showed up in her head and it had nearly ended in disaster. “After a few classes with me, kid, you’ll be able to whip what’s-his-name’s ass. You gonna move your marker?”

Becky’s eyes nearly bugged out. “What? How did…I didn’t say anything…” Her speech was so fast even Willow might have struggled to unravel the words.

“I know people think I’m stupid. I’m not.” No one seeing Becky and that Watcher together would have any doubts about their relationship. Neither of them had poker faces. “It’s cool. He seems OK. Not uptight like Giles or Lydia.”

“He’s _old_!” Becky snapped. “Old and a _Watcher_.”

Faith didn’t know what to say to that. She and Tara were close enough in age that it wasn’t an issue. Most of the other pairing she was familiar with in Sunnydale were the same way. Except Willow and Janna. “It works for Red and Janna. The age thing.” Life grew surreal as she advised Becky, “You should talk to him. See what he wants.”

Her advice earned a disbelieving stare before Becky ran from the kitchen. Faith heard her footsteps thunder on the stairs. She followed more slowly, carrying the garbage bag of ice for Tara wrapped. Becky’s bondmate was staring up the stairs with a look on his face like maybe Becky had kicked him in the balls on her way past.

He recovered when he noticed Faith. “Faith, this is Colonel Markham. Would you take him to the Library? I…I need to check on something for a moment.” More like he needed to pull himself together. He was pasty white under his beard. Had _she_ looked like that when the bond with Tara was new and scary?

“Sure. Come on up. Guess you passed the test or whatever,” Faith told the guy standing with the Watcher. She’d tried to help Beck and failed. Steering Winnie’s friend up the stairs was hopefully more her speed.

Markham laughed; apparently not all Marines were as serious as Maxie’s brother. “Yes, Dave’s already tested my memory. Winnie should be glad I remembered his ‘secret code’.”

Without giving anyone a chance for more talking, Faith trotted up the stairs. Markham and Watcher Dave could follow or not. She was more than ready to get back to Tara and deliver the ice.

_“And I’m more than ready for you to **be** back,_” Tara commented softly. _“It’s not the same without you, sweetie.”_

Faith picked up her pace. To hell with escort duty.


	78. Chapter 78

There was a fat lot of nothing happening in the Library. Faith dodged furniture and bored-looking people on her way to Tara. “Got more ice,” she announced, setting the garbage bag on the couch next to Tara. “Lean up.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Lydia interrupted Faith’s attempts to resettle Tara, her pillows, and the bag of ice. When Faith flicked a glance in her direction, Lydia waved at the door.

“Huh?” What was Lydia’s issue now? Faith turned back toward the door. Had she dropped something on the way in? Yep. She had. A big “something.” “Sorry. That’s Colonel Markham. Colonel Markham, meet the gang.” Faith met Lydia’s outraged stare…and waited. Was Giles’ Lady dumb enough to comment? It wouldn’t be the first time she commented on Faith’s poor manners.

For once, Lydia kept her mouth shut. Probably because Markham said something first. “Winnie was short on details. All I got was a reminder that I owed him for not spilling the beans about the night I painted a replica Bill in the middle of Michie Field and directions to the House.”

Faith tuned out the resulting conversation. Who cared about Winnie and his friend? Once the Tweed Crew decided on a plan of attack, Faith would pay attention. She carefully arranged the garbage bag between Tara and her nest of pillows.

Her reward was a soft sigh and Tara’s quiet, “Thank you, sweetie.” A narrow hand patted the cushion next to Tara. “Come here. I missed you while you were gone.”

“I was gone for, like, ten minutes. What am I, your fucking security blanket?” Faith may have mocked Tara’s request; however, she didn’t hesitate to cuddle close. The ice immediately froze her right arm and leg. She ignored the minor discomfort.

“You are warm and cuddly,” Tara responded with her quirky half-smile. “Now stay quiet and listen. I don’t want to have to ask Giles to repeat something. Willow told me that makes him cranky.”

Faith snorted. “You’re a nut job.” She made a production out of getting more comfortable.

_"Your nut job. Don’t you forget it, my Faith._ ” Tara lay her head on Faith’s shoulder, one hand resting on Faith’s thigh. The chill of the ice melted under that hand. In fact, warmth blossomed in that one spot. Seconds later, Tara’s breathing slowed. Deepened. She was sound asleep.

Fucking stubborn witch. Faith scowled at the top of Tara’s head. Tara should be in bed, not all cramped and twisted against her on this stupid couch. But damned if she wasn’t cute. Faith dropped a quick kiss on Tara’s head – and then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed the pathetic gesture.

Everyone _appeared_ to be watching Markham. “I know this isn’t your usual battle strategy. I’ve worked with a few Slayers, but Winnie’s right, Mr. Giles. You’ve got no idea where your target is. You’re probably outmanned. Maybe even outgunned. If you stick with ‘tried and true’, you’ll end up defeated and dead.”

“I’m not too fond of ‘dead,’” Xander said. “It sounds permanent.” His usual humor was absent, and Faith noticed Giles frown – and then start to really pay attention at Xander’s somber tone. “I get this isn’t what the Council wants, guys. Hello! Bonded to the Senior Slayer. But we’ve broken a lot of rules lately. Some of them, like what they were doing to Faith and the Slayers we talked to on Will’s computer, _needed_ to be broken. If I have to weigh ‘rule’ with ‘staying alive’, I know where I’m putting my vote.”

Buffy picked up his speech like they’d practiced it. Maybe they had. “Giles, Lydia, you have to make a choice. Right here. Right now. You’re either on the team, or you need to leave. I thought you’d already decided, but I guess I was wrong.” Her voice wavered; Faith knew how close she was to Giles. “We’re fighting two different wars. I don’t have time for you to become war number three. The Mayor has to die, and the Council has to step into the Twenty-first Century.

“Colonel, you’re in charge of the bomb. No one here can make it or keep us from blowing ourselves up except you. If I understood the rest of your information, we’re at the step where we get the Mayor to our ‘X marks the spot’ location and figur out how to light the fuse.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. Not the bomb. Faith knew nothing about bombs. But she was one hundred percent certain she knew how to light a fuse. “Noreen,” she said. Buffy raised an eyebrow and tilted her head like a dog. “Come on, B. Noreen almost burned the House down my first week here. I saw Janna draggin’ buckets of water to the Workroom before every class, just in case.” The Mayor. Magic. Fire. In her mind, Faith held tight to an image of Tara pointing at the Mayor and a ball of flame turning him to so much ash.

Tara had stomped on that fantasy. Using Noreen was a poor second option; one that might work, though. “I wasn’t listenin’ too close to Markham.” Tara was far more important. “But Winnie said we’d need somethin’ to light the fuse, too. We got Noreen. We lure the Mayor somewhere, get him next to the bomb, turn Noreen loose, and _boom!_ ”

“More magic.” Janna joined the party with a big wet blanket. “Magic isn’t the answer to everything.”

“Then why have it?” Willow flushed and dropped her eyes when Janna frowned at her; however, she didn’t give in to her Domme’s disapproval and stop talking. “I can’t understand why the Council even _has_ witches. We sit in a warded workshop and practice spells, but we don’t _do_ anything. We don’t go into the field. Did you know I found this great levitation spell last week? If a vampire attacked, I could use it to throw a stake or branch or even a pencil. _Poof!_ No more vamp. Instead, I stay here while Buffy goes out on patrol alone. Why can’t we help? Faith’s right. Noreen can burn anything without even trying. If we find the right place, the Mayor won’t even know she’s around. She can ignite the bomb for us. It would be a whole lot easier and less dangerous than sending Faith or Buffy to try and ignite it. But, hey! They’re Slayers. They live for near death experiences, right?” Her voice was a bitter mumble by the end, and Janna’s pinch-faced glower (she looked an awful lot like Lydia when she did that) had turned into open-mouthed shock.

Before any of the usual crew could say anything, Markham nodded. “The girl’s right. It’s like having a Special Forces unit and not using them. You could absolutely throw wave after wave of infantry into the fight, but they’d all die. Not a smart way to win a war.”

“Don’t know about you, B, but I ain’t ready to die.” Faith saw Buffy’s tiny grin and Xander’s more enthusiastic nod of agreement. She had been before. Before Tara. Before something other than how bad her life sucked ruled Faith’s thoughts. She glanced down at the still-sleeping Tara. “The Council’s changing, boys and girls. We already sent the memo. Guess we’re adding one more new rule: ain’t just the Slayers in the fight. Giles, Janna, Lydia,” Faith listed the only real holdouts she figured they had, “you ‘in’ or you ‘out’?”

The two Dominants that Faith had named remained silent. She watched them stare at their submissives, faces in tight lines. Faith was impressed with Willow, who stared right back. “Are you really going to let Faith and Buffy die because you’re afraid, _Do_ _amnᾰ_? I know you think I’ll lose control or that I won’t take the training seriously.” She stood and faced Janna. “Just because I think there are better ways to do magic, that doesn’t make them wrong. I’ve listened to you during the basic classes. I can cast a ward better than anyone except Tara. I’ve read all of the assigned texts. I know the risks.” She paused and pointed at Buffy and then Faith. “Do you, Janna?”

The lack of honorific was an open challenge.

Faith held her breath. Saw Buffy take a step toward Willow as if to protect her best friend and then stop, hands fisted.

“We are all fools.” Lydia broke the standoff. “Each and every one of us.” Her clipped voice was low and tired. “I am guilty of everything young Willow and Faith have accused us of, with fear being the most prevalent. The Council’s indiscretions were not new. Rumors of excess and abuse have swirled through the halls of every House and Headquarters long before I completed my Watcher training. Secret facilities. Retraining programs. Brutality.” She held out a hand to Willow. “My dear, the Devonshire Coven does far more than merely practice spells. They have been the personal enforcers of the Council for generations. Nothing so plebian as killing vampires and protecting Slayers. I am sure they were responsible for breaking Isis’ bond to her young submissive, among other attrocities.

“Ru, it’s time we all stopped hiding behind tradition. I know I’ve often held you back from doing as your heart and your conscience wished.” Faith goggled as she bowed her head in Giles’ direction. “I should have trusted you, the keeper of my heart, more than Quentin Travers, a man I’ve reviled since our shared Academy days.”

Giles stepped forward and gripped Lydia’s hand. “Mistress.” He raised their joined hands and kissed her fingers. “Colonel, perhaps I have been wrong to dismiss your suggestions. I am far from an expert in explosives or guerilla warfare. Tell us what our next step should be.”

More talking. Faith had had enough. She stood and awkwardly scooped Tara into her arm before snagging the garbage bag of ice in one hand. If she made it to her old room without dropping anything it would be a miracle.

The bag was yanked from her hand. Drew held it and rolled his eyes. “There are _other people_ who can carry ice. Did you ever think to ask one of them?”

“Nope. She’s Faith, the Great Vampire Slayer. She can do it aaaallll alone.” Damned if Drew hadn’t brought Becky. She must have recovered from Watcher Dave Fear. The kid mimicked Drew’s eye roll. “Don’t know why we’re even here. I bet she could find and kill the Mayor all by herself.”

Now that was just unfair. Faith scowled.

“He’d have a heart attack from just _seeing_ her face all twisted up like that.” Becky pointed at Faith.

“Mistress has a look way worse than that. I’m not afraid.” Drew’s grin was mocking. “Come on, oh Great Vampire Slayer. I’ve got the ice and Becky can clear a path through the books and scrolls. Not to mention, I’m sure she can open doors, too.”

Not responding to the teasing, Faith carried Tara out of the Library. Her old room was on the second floor. She headed there, footfalls scrambling behind her. Great. The Comedy Twins were following. They didn’t say anything, though. Becky slipped around Faith and opened the door. Drew turned down the bed and helped Faith settle Tara and the ice on one side of the mattress.

Then they were gone, leaving Faith and Tara alone.

***

Movies and television were all lies. Head resting on her hand, Faith watched Tara sleep. It was _not_ a pretty sight. Or sound. Tara snored. She also had the tiniest drop of drool at the corner of her mouth. No one in Hollywood looked like that. All perfect hair and makeup even when they were in the hospital in a coma.

It didn’t matter. Tara was more beautiful than any of those annoying actresses. Faith enjoyed the chance to observe. To think. Think. She nearly snorted. Who would ever believe she’d want to think?

_“If you walk out that door, you little bitch, you’re never getting back in!” Faith’s mother coughed, wet and ragged, until Faith wanted to clear her throat in sympathy._

_Sympathy. Right. She touched the bruising on her left cheek. Felt the welts on her back and butt rubbing against her shirt and jeans. Her mother had no sympathy for her. Faith was a means to an end: drugs, booze, cigarettes._

_“Like I fucking care.” To prove her point, Faith slammed the apartment door behind her before sprinting down the stairs to freedom._

Freedom. Faith snorted softly. Freedom to sleep under park benches and in abandoned buildings. To eat even _less_ than she had in that crappy apartment. Freedom to find her own johns in a lame attempt to afford more than scraps from a Dumpster.

The day she’d run from her mother’s apartment, Faith had been happy. Or, she thought that she was happy. It wasn’t like she’d had a lot (or any) practice at “happy” before then. She’d been wrong. Real happiness was watching that tiny drop of drool on Tara’s lips and knowing Tara would smile the moment she woke up and saw Faith was with her.

Sappy? Fuck, yeah. That didn’t make it any less true. Markham’s comments in the Library suddenly haunted Faith, _“…you’ll end up defeated and dead.”_ He’d been poking at Giles, but even if they used magic, there was no guarantee they’d win. Faith knew the risks of being a Slayer. It was one of the few things she’d paid attention to during countless lectures and pre-patrol briefings. Fighting demons was dangerous. Sometimes, being a kick-ass superhero wasn’t enough.

Faith watched Tara and wanted to hide her away. Keep her safe, no matter the cost.

She couldn’t. Tara was part of the fight. A powerful witch who’d give Faith a raised-brow look as she stalked out the door to hunt down the Mayor. A tiny grin snuck out. Maybe Faith should get Tara to do that. It would be hot to watch.

“Mmmm, I love that grin,” Tara said in a husky whisper. “But I bet you’re planning something wicked, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Faith was so busted. She didn’t admit it, though. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

In direct defiance of her order, Tara turned her head and widened her eyes. “I’m not sleepy anymore. It’s like I bonded to Willow. My head is spinning from all the deep thinking going on in here.” She raised a hand and tapped Faith’s forehead. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothin’.” The response was automatic. Faith winced and dropped her eyes when Tara’s expression turned frosty. “Really,” she protested. “Just…ya’ know…”

“I don’t know.” Damned if that cool disagreement didn’t send shivers racing along Faith’s nerves. She was right on the edge of bringing Lady Tara to the party. “I don’t know, my Faith, because _you_ haven’t told me.” **_Yet_** , Tara seemed to imply.

Faith scowled. Then, little by little, she wilted under the weight of Tara’s continued stare. “Markham’s tellin’ Giles how to blow up the Mayor,” she mumbled. There! She’d told Tara (a tiny piece) of what she’d been thinking about.

“Go on,” Tara ordered.

That was it. The only bit Faith had planned to share. Except Tara wasn’t backing down. Her stare ate further into Faith’s resistance. “And things could get ugly.” Talking was hard work. Sweat dampened the back of Faith’s shirt.

“They could.” Tara stroked Faith’s cheek. “But I’ll be right at your side, my Slayer, and I know you’ll do everything you can to keep us all safe.”

Exactly. That was _exactly_ what Faith was worried about. “What if I’m not enough?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Tara rolled onto her side, lips compressing slightly for a moment at the move. “All any of us can do it try our best. I know you’ll do that. _We’ll_ do that.”

Frustration welled. That wasn’t what Faith had meant. Why was talking so _hard_? She tried again, words and thoughts tangled into impenetrable knots. “I never…it’s…” Tara cupped Faith’s chin, her thumb sliding gently over Faith’s cheek. The touch helped. Somehow centered Faith and her runaway thoughts and emotions. “If somethin’ happens…With the Mayor…” Reaching up, she pulled Tara’s hand away from her face and kissed the palm. “Since that stupid fucking Winter Social, I’ve been a bitch to you.”

Before Tara could get all twisted up about Faith talking bad about “Tara’s sub,” Faith kissed Tara’s hand again. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t lie to me, _for_ me. It’s true, T. I hated it here. Hell, I hated _me_. And I pushed every button you got to make you hate me, too.” She met Tara’s gaze, saw the glimmer of tears there. Tears she figured were for her. Her throat ached around an unexplainable ball of emotion. She’d nearly fucked all this up. Because she was a freaking coward. “Don’t…don’t hate me, T. I don’t…I wouldn’t…” The ball expanded until Faith fought for every breath. “Whether we blow the Mayor up or he eats us,” Faith refused to back down. She had to tell Tara while she had the chance, “I want the bond.” The words were clear, if too soft. “I want the bond. I want you.” More than Faith had ever wanted anything in her life before.

Tears splashed onto her fingers. “Ah, hell, T.” Faith shifted until Tara was all but sprawled over her chest. “Don’t cry.” Anything but fucking tears. Tears turned her stomach into an angry pit of fire and her chest had an anvil on it that grew heavier with each new drop of wetness where Tara’s head pressed to Faith’s neck.

“I want the bond, too,” Tara whispered.

Well, duh. Not that hearing Tara admit it didn’t make Faith smile like an idiot. “Kinda got that. Ya’ know, from the way you kept chasin’ me.” Teeth nipped at her neck, and she jumped. “Ow!”

“Poor, helpless Slayer.” A kiss soothed the sting of the bite.

Settling Tara more comfortably along her side, Faith went back to her painful attempt at conversation. “What comes next?” she asked. “We did the claimin’ thing. Know you were lookin’ at collars.” Her next comment was wry. “Until I nearly squealed like a townie facin’ a vamp.”

The body pressed against her trembled. Damned witch was _laughing_ at her.

“No need to me be mean,” Faith complained.

“Monica made fun of Buffy about being a Little. Maybe she had the Slayers confused. Do you need a Teddy bear to cuddle and keep you safe?” Tara’s head rose enough for Faith to see her grin and the dancing blue light in her eyes.

Faith chuckled – and then stuck her lower lip out in a deliberate pout. “Will you get me the weally big bear, Mommy T?”

Her reward was a full-throated laugh and body squeeze. “The very biggest, my Faith.”

“Cool, but… I’m serious, T.” Faith took a deep breath. “What’s next?” It sounded stupid. She should have asked Drew about contracts and shit when she’d had the chance.

Tara started to sit up until Faith gently gripped her arms and held her still. “I won’t break.” Blue eyes snapping with frustration, she frowned for half a second before relaxing back into Faith’s arms. “W-we have two or three weeks to file a contract with the Bond Registration Office.”

“A contract,” Faith repeated.

Tara placed another kiss on Faith’s neck. “Mmm, like an agreement. What our limits are: I won’t use impact tools that leave marks or tie you down. Or slap you.” Tara’s voice was fierce for the last part. “You agree not to talk bad about my sexy Slayer. We can add more. Things we both want out of the relationship.”

It sounded easy. “Can we do that?” Faith couldn’t _quite_ meet Tara’s eyes when the other woman raised her head. “Before we go after the Mayor?” It was somehow important that Faith show Tara and everyone else how serious she was about staying with Tara. About living up to her bond.

Emotion surged through the bond. Bright, bubbling happiness beamed from Tara’s side. _“Of course, my Faith.”_


	79. Chapter 79

Another of Faith’s dreams woke Tara from a sound sleep. She sat up and peered blearily across the room to where Faith sprawled in an uncomfortable tangle in the floral-patterned wing chair. Faith twitched. Writhed. Her face was lined with…emotions Tara couldn’t place as Faith alternately begged and commanded her phantom “little cat” to come back. Afraid to wake Faith abruptly, Tara reached out through the bond. _“I’m here, sweetie. I’m here and I won’t leave you.”_

Faith quieted, a soft sigh filling the room. “Don’t leave,” she mumbled.

“ _I promise. I’ll never leave._ ” Tara wanted to go to Faith. Hold her. She didn’t. Faith wasn’t ready for that. Instead, Tara closed her eyes and centered. It was easier today. She didn’t hurt as badly, and – as always – the need to protect Faith gave her strength.

There were no Magickal supplies. No formalized Warding. Tara simply drew her energy into a warm pool and spread it through the bond toward Faith. In its wake, she said softly, “Brighid, I petition thee. Any energy that no longer serves me and the one who shares my soul, cast it from us. Aid us in sending the darkness home.” She repeated the prayer, heart lightening with each utterance. The link with Faith pulsed with power, and light grew in her mind.

Tara waited until Faith’s energy echoed hers, until the grief and fear floated away. Tiny “holes” appeared in Tara’s internal sight, gaps where the departed negativity had been. Visualizing a funnel reaching from the bond to the heavens, Tara implored the Goddess, “I ask, Brighid, that our bodies be filled with your pure and healing light.” As she spoke, Tara “pulled” down the bright, clean light the Goddess offered until her and Faith’s spirits were whole again.

She opened her eyes. Faith slept peacefully now. All the lines were gone from her face, and she seemed years younger. That meant Tara could settle back against the pillows and think. Think about the future…and the past. Hers, Faith’s, and hers _and_ Faith’s.

It was all so confusing. So much change in so little time.

Wasn’t it only yesterday she’d come to Sunnydale?

_Backpack thrown over her shoulder, Tara crept off the bus and stared around the bus station. So many people! All of them with something to do or somewhere to be. Senses alive for any hint of her father or Donny, she scurried across the station. No one paid attention to her. Opening the door and stepping out into the bright sunlight, Tara breathed her first real breath since leaving home the week before._

Tara glanced at Faith again. Thank the Goddess _that_ Tara was mostly gone. Faith would have terrified her into a full meltdown. No. Not a meltdown. A meltdown would have required staying in one place. If she’d met Faith, bad sub smirk firmly in place, at the Sunnydale Bus Depot, Tara would have dropped her bag and run right back to the farm.

Running would have been a mistake. Running would have meant never meeting the beautiful girl across the room. The beautiful girl wearing her cuff. Her mark.

Her collar, one day. Tara no longer doubted that. She’d simply have to be patient and help Faith deal with her trust issues. A little voice in Tara’s head mocked her. _Faith’s_ issues? Tara tried to unleash Lady Tara on that voice…before sighing. The little voice was right. Tara had issues, too.

She’d get past all those issues. Faith was worth it. Tara smiled wryly. Faith had already been her motivation for so much change: accepting a bond, being open about her magic, taking the Trial, joining the Council. They could face their demons together, starting with the Mayor.

Filled with determination, Tara swung her legs out of bed. Goddess, moving _hurt_. On a scale of one to ten, though, the stinging, itching burn rated a measly four and not the fifteen from the day before. Willow’s scientific spell was getting the job done. Time to get back on her feet and back in the fight. Tara slipped off her shirt and padded into the bathroom. The welts were still red and faintly puffy. A few scabs marked where the whip had torn open her back.

The bright vanity light flickered.

_“Mama, please!” Tara pleaded. “W-We can steal the keys to the tr-truck. Don-ny left them in the kitchen.” He’d been drunk at the time. Tara had hidden in the pantry, peering fearfully out of the tiny opening she’d left in the pantry door. Normally, Donny and her father were more careful. The keys (and any other possible escape route) were locked away: money, credit cards, IDs. She dabbed gently at the bloody cuts on her mother’s back. At the mass of older scars from too many whippings._

Gripping the edge of the counter, Tara stared at her reflection. _Her_ reflection, not her mother’s. She wasn’t locked into a loveless bond. The marks on _her_ back would heal, leaving only a few reminders. Tara finally turned away from the mirror and spun the taps on the shower. Keeping the water cool, she stepped under the spray.

It was amazing to be clean. Really clean. After gently scrubbing the accumulated grime from her body, Tara washed her hair. She felt better as the leftover dirt and soap disappeared down the drain. She carefully dried off, wrapped a towel around her damp hair, and returned to the bedroom. Faith still slept, now curled into a tight ball in the chair. Tara frowned at the position. _“Faith,”_ she called softly through the link. _“Move to the chair. It’s more comfortable.”_ With slow, controlled steps, she walked to Faith’s side and brushed a hand over Faith’s shoulder. Not enough to wake her or to rouse her survival instincts. Enough to hopefully reinforce Tara’s mental order. _“Now, my Slayer.”_

Like a sleep-walking Slayer doll, Faith climbed to her feet and stumbled to the bed with Tara’s gentle hand guiding her.

Tara let Faith wiggle into a comfortable sprawl, warmed to her soul at the way Faith wrapped her body around Tara’s discarded pillow. She drew the sheet over Faith. _“Sleep, sweetie. I’ll be right upstairs with the gang when you wake up.”_ To make sure Faith got the message and didn’t think she’d been abandoned, Tara left a note propped on the small desk in the room. Then Tara pulled on a pair of old, comfortable jeans and an oversized t-shirt for her trip to the Library. A quick brush through her hair completed her preparations.

Ready to read yet another book on demons, Tara squared her shoulders and marched from the room. The “march” lasted less than three stair-treads. Silently cursing her diminished state, Tara climbed to the top floor. Just a few simple stairs and she was sweating and trembling, the shower-clean feeling absent. She pushed on, though. The low murmur of voices pulled her back into the fight and the lure of lights beckoned.

The research explosion had destroyed the once-organized room. Books, a few remaining bodies, food and drink trash. It was even worse than when Tara had left for her nap. Trish was asleep in a chair; Maxie stared numbly at a scroll from her spot on Trish’s lap. Monica and Drew were missing. Tara checked for Becky and noted the young girl sat at the “Watcher” table. Buffy and Xander were planted in front of a laptop at the back of the room.

Tara headed in their direction but paused when Buffy’s low, urgent voice said, “We can’t keep doing nothing. That wasn’t what this was about! Get your teams on the streets tonight.” Buffy was obviously busy with the Council situation. Tara wasn’t qualified to help with that.

She changed course. “Mr. Giles?”

He glanced up and smiled despite the lines of exhaustion on his face. “Tara, my dear. You look much better.”

“Sh-showers are wonderful things,” she told him. “Where is everyone else?”

“In the Workroom with Colonel Markham.” Giles grimaced. “Noreen arrived while you and Faith were resting. I shudder to think how close she has already come to burning us all alive.”

They were really unfair to Noreen, who simply needed a few lessons in control. And who was set to possibly save all their lives. Tara didn’t argue, though. “I’ll join them.” She was the most thoroughly-trained witch on the team. The only one who didn’t routinely cut corners. If Noreen, if _all_ of them were going to survive the upcoming fight with the Mayor, she needed to be part of the planning sessions. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“We’re good. Thank you.” The youngest Watcher shoved away from the table and stood. Tara heard pops and cracks as he stretched. “God, I’m getting too old for this.” She almost laughed. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than she was. “I located the kitchen once; I’m sure I can find it again.” He held out his hand belatedly. “Sorry. I’m Dave, by the way. In all the rush to research, I’m not sure we really met.”

“Tara.” She took his hand, which had surprising calluses. Like Faith’s. “I’ll m-make sure you don’t get lost.” He cocked his head. “I have to go past the kitchen on the way to the Workroom.” Dave was a half-step behind as she retraced her path to the stairs.

“I met your Faith earlier,” Dave said. “She and Becky,” he glanced over his shoulder, and Becky turned away; the young Slayer had been watching them. Tara thought Dave’s expression drooped. “Well, they showed me the kitchen while they got you some ice. How are you feeling, by the way?”

He talked a lot for a Watcher. Tara liked him immediately. “Fine.” He laughed – and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me I need to sit down, rest, or take it easy,” she threatened, earning more laughter.

“I’ll leave that for your girl and her friends. Your Faith seems quite capable of getting her point across.” Dave followed Tara down the stairs without commenting on her slow and cautious pace.

Yes, Faith was _very_ good at telling Tara what she thought, especially when it came to Tara’s safety and health. Tara would forever be reminding Faith which of them wore their cuff on the left. “You’re not British,” Tara said, steering the conversation away from her.

“The accent gives it away every time,” Dave complained. “Until Buffy and Rupert broke from the Council, being American was a handicap. I’ve been stuck in every tiny, backwoods House and outpost Quentin could find. The only locations he and his cronies thought I was qualified to handle.” Only a touch of bitterness tainted his tone, but Tara saw the way he frowned. “I graduated from the Watcher’s Academy four years ago,” making him in his mid-twenties at the outside, “and I’ve yet to be assigned a Slayer.”

“You’d have been far better than Watcher Wes.” Tara used Faith’s nickname without thinking.

Dave snorted. “Ah, the Golden Boy. Wesley Windham-Pryce.”

They reached the first floor, and Tara had a sudden image of Wesley sprawled lifelessly on the floor. Her thoughts were unworthy, unWiccan. Wesley hadn’t deserved to die; he didn’t deserve her mockery, either. He’d paid the ultimate price for his arrogance and actions already.

“I’m sure you’ll be assigned a Slayer now.” With the Council in shambles and Buffy removing all of the Old Guard, there would be _many_ Slayers without a Watcher.

“I’m sure.” For a man who’d been complaining about his Slayer-less state, Dave was less enthusiastic than Tara expected. She glanced back and saw him staring at the staircase.

Becky stood uncertainly at the first landing. When she noticed them watching her, she turned and thundered back upstairs.

That’s when Tara made the connection. What had Faith said about Becky? _“Might be freakin’ over a bond.”_ Dave showed all the signs of a new bond. His expression was so openly _longing_ that it almost broke Tara’s heart. “Congratulations,” she told him sincerely.

His laugh wasn’t humorous now; it was a ragged expression of disbelief.

“Come on.” Tara didn’t want to intrude further on his private and personal struggles. It wasn’t her place. “We’re almost to the kitchen.” Dave remained silent. Tara remembered when _she_ had been just like Dave: lost and alone, knowing that her soulmate had turned away. As she ushered him into the empty kitchen, she dared a gentle touch to his arm and an encouraging, “Give her time.”

She didn’t stay. Dave more than likely needed a chance to pull himself together, and _she_ needed to get back to work. Tara swept out the back door, pausing for only a second to remember her meeting with Althenea; the time Faith had turned away from her after their lunch; and (her personal favorite) their “quiet time” together in the shade. Tara smiled. They’d have to do that again soon. Only _this_ time, Faith would be at her feet.

_“Where do you want me?” Faith didn’t glance at Tara. Her eyes were locked onto the far wall._

_Tara didn’t understand the question. “Want you?” Did Faith still believe Tara didn’t think Faith was good enough? That she was going to repudiate her?_

_“Yeah. Like…in the club. Before I…” Before Faith could insult her decision in the club again, Tara placed a finger over her lips and raised an eyebrow in warning. A flush painted Faith’s cheeks pink. Goddess, she was so precious. Tara fell in love with her all over again. When Tara thought Faith understood the unspoken lesson, she removed her finger. “Like I was sayin’,” Faith muttered with a tiny grin, “at the club you had a pillow waitin’. You want me on my knees?”_

_It hadn’t occurred to Tara. **Trish** had put that pillow on the floor, joking about how it matched Tara’s eyes and how pretty Faith would look perched there. “I…” She broke off, considering the question. “Do you **want** to kneel?”_

_Faith’s blush grew. “I ain’t sittin’ in your lap. I mean, I’m too big and…well, I’d be in trouble **all the time**.” Her dimples appeared, robbing Tara of breath. A feeling that continued as Faith’s gaze slid from the wall – to Tara’s breasts. “Might have to cuff me if ya’ want me in your lap. Think I could get distracted by those if you don’t.”_

_Tara shuddered. Goddess. Faith’s gaze was heavy, like a caress. Her nipples grew tight and hard. She reached out, thumb sliding lightly over Faith’s lips. “If I do that, **you** might not enjoy it as much as I would.” _

_“Guess your lap’s out then, huh?” Faith’s grin could brighten the darkest night._

_Tara basked in it as she went back to their discussion. She’d enjoyed when Faith curled up against her on the couch. But kneeling at her feet… Kneeling was the quintessential submissive pose. Tara’s heartbeat quickened. Her fingers suddenly itched to stroke through Faith’s hair. She could **feel** Faith’s head as it rested against her thigh. “Yes, my Faith. I’d like you to kneel.” _

_Posture relaxing at Tara’s decision, Faith scribbled the new “rule” in the spiral notebook they’d found in the nightstand drawer. Their draft contract._

Soon. Soon she and Faith would have a quiet afternoon hidden in the shade, exploring their dynamic further.

Just as soon as Noreen turned the Mayor to ash. Tara trotted the rest of the way to the Workroom. Magical energy swirled around the building; however, no warding blocked her entry. A shortcut? Or an oversight? Keeping her mental “eyes” open, she carefully cracked the door.

The entire Magic for Dummies class filled the building, along with…

“Blessed Be!” Tara recognized the verbal exclamation marks before she spotted Melody. The bright blue hair was now a cotton-candy pink. “Janna said you were here!” Stepping fully into the room, Tara accepted the careful yet somehow all-encompassing hug from the High Priestess. “Are you well enough to be here?” As Melody examined Tara, a little of her enthusiasm settled.

“I’m fine,” Tara answered. It was true. Or…it _would_ be true, given a little more time. There was still pain. And the healing cuts on her back burned and itched. But the worst was over. She couldn’t huddle in bed. “Wh-what have you been working on?”

The question was pointless. It was obvious from the burn marks on the floor and the smoldering pile of clothing in the center of the large space what had happened. Noreen was practicing her firestarting.

Janna still answered. “Trying to get the Colonel’s plan to work.” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t convinced they’d succeed.

They _had_ to succeed. Failure meant certain death. A fabulous motivation, as far as Tara was concerned. She remembered Faith’s confidence in Tara’s power and skills. The way Faith had argued with every member of the new Scooby Gang. Turning to Colonel Markham, who stood to one side of the room, Tara ordered, “Sh-show me what you’re plan-ning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredibly long delay for this one. Somehow I always forget just how crazy work gets starting in August. I'll do my best to have an update ready in a couple of weeks, but... it may be longer if I can't fight my way to the keyboard.


	80. Chapter 80

An hour later, Noreen was close to tears and Tara was on the verge of unleashing her own brand of destruction. The plan was sound. The execution was pathetic. The room smelled of sulfur and smoke; the air buzzed with latent magical energy and frustration.

“We have to have an ignition source.” Colonel Markham was the only person in the room not affected by the increasingly snippy comments. He strode around the room, peering at supplies and people as if seeing something besides a ragtag group on the edge of collapse. “I thought…the touch plate...”

The touch plate. The bomb. The thing Noreen had to ignite. The thing that smoldered and sparked in the middle of the room. They’d gone over the plan a dozen times. Noreen had managed to set off a spark every single time but it wasn’t good enough for Markham. What if the Mayor didn’t stand on the right spot? What if he managed to jump out of the way in the scant heartbeat before the bomb went off?

It was exhausting and frustrating. And, because it hasn’t been a favorable plan, Tara listened in growing irritation as Janna (in particular) complained.

Luckily, Markham ignored Janna. He was very good at staying focused. “What if the materials weren’t on the floor?” Markham grabbed a spellbook from a workbench and held it out. “What if it was something the Mayor was _holding_?”

“It would be like a cartoon.” Amy had dropped to the floor, leaning against Michael’s legs. “Wile E. Coyote does thermite bombs. We’d hand the Mayor the book; Noreen would light the fuse.”

“And the Mayor would throw it back at us just as it exploded,” Willow finished. Her grin was less electric than usual. “I’ve been researching.” Her laptop rested next to her on a chair. “Thermite isn’t like dynamite. The reactants are stable. We could carry them wherever and…and pin them on the Mayor?”

The room broke up in laughter. “Pin the tail on the Mayor,” Amy called. “Just don’t spin Noreen or she might light the wrong fuse.”

“It would be more accurate,” Markham commented. He walked toward Janna and pretended to stick something to her shirt. “But it means getting a lot closer than we wanted. You’d have to have someone within the burn zone. I don’t recommend it. If something went wrong or a piece of the heated thermite landed on whoever planted the bomb, the chance for survival would be negligible.”

That didn’t sound like a good idea then.  Tara stared at the pile of clothing. Their “Mayor”. If sticking the bomb to his clothing wouldn’t work… “We have to find a way to get the Mayor where we want him,” she said out loud. “Something that he can’t resist.”

“Like what?” Markham turned to Tara.

“I’m not the expert on the Mayor, but I may know someone who is.” Tara considered that. Faith was skittish with questions regarding her time with the Mayor. Would she willingly discuss options for drawing the Mayor into their trap? Faith may have put some basic rules in a draft contract but that didn’t give Tara the right to order her to give up her most private and painful memories. “Let me talk to Faith.” More talking; a sure-fire way to resurrect Faith’s legendary scowl. Anticipation tingled along Tara’s nerves. She secretly loved that grumpy expression.

Willow’s girlish giggle interrupted Tara’s thoughts. “You look just like that, _Doamn_ _ᾰ_ , right before you break out the spreader bar and the whipped cream.” Janna flushed, her sullen expression eclipsed by something far more adult and carnal.

Even Markham’s reserved cracked. He chuckled. “As long as Tara and her whipped cream get the information we need, I’ll overlook whatever interrogation techniques she’s forced to use.” He glanced around the Workroom. “I think we’ll only need a few more practice runs once we have a final location and the bait. Noreen,” he bowed slightly to the young witch, “is more than ready to provide our ignition.”

At least someone recognized Noreen’s talents. Tara nodded in agreement with his comments. Noreen was ready. Tara had observed her closely during the scenarios; her control had been perfect. Her confidence had grown with each repetition.

“Tara,” Markham continued, “we’ll wait for you to tell us if Faith has any ideas on luring the Mayor into our trap.”

***

The bed was cold. Not that Faith remembered getting _into_ the bed. Last time she’d checked, she’d been camped out in the chair. Stretching until her back threatened to spasm, Faith glanced around the room. Tara was gone; the bed was cold. Tara had been gone a while.

Rolling out of bed, Faith strode for the door. Damn it! What was Tara thinking? Her frustrated mental complaints stopped. _Faith_. A simple handwritten version of her name. Tara’s handwriting? Faith had never seen anything Tara had written. She picked up the notecard and turned it over.

_I hope you slept well, my Faith._ Faith stroked the paper. “My Faith.” Why did that make her feel so funny? Twitchy and on the edge of running…and all “Buffy-at-a-shoe-sale” excited? She scowled automatically and resumed reading.

_I hope you slept well, my Faith. You looked so uncomfortable in your chair, I helped you move to the bed. I’m much better today (I know you think I need my strong Slayer to carry me) and I wanted to see what the Gang had been up to. Meet me there? Don’t forget to grab a pillow. I’ll expect you at my feet soon, sweetie._

_Love you, my Faith_

_T_

T. Faith shook her head. She’d have to explain how the “T” versus “Tara” thing worked because “T” surely hadn’t written that note. Placing the note back on the desk, she snooped in all the drawers and the closet. None of her clothes were there. Not a huge surprise. She hadn’t exactly painted “I’ll be back” on the House walls when she’d stormed out to join the Mayor. Watcher Wes must have thrown her gear out. That didn’t mean there weren’t clean clothes, though.

Faith ducked into the hallway and trotted downstairs. Just off the main hallway sat the laundry room and a supply closet stocked with enough Council-labeled sweats, shorts, and T-shirts for an army. She grabbed one of everything before returning to Tara’s room for a shower.

The water was scalding hot just the way she liked it. As it pounded on her head and shoulders, Faith closed her eyes.

_“No cages.” Faith nodded immediately. She agreed with Tara’s hard limit, especially after Papa Maclay’s visit. “No whips, canes, or things that can leave scars,” Tara continued._

_This time, Faith hesitated. “T…” No. This wasn’t a conversation between Faith and her friend. It didn’t take a genius to realize this was a full-on Dominant/submissive interaction. “Tara, I’m a Slayer.” Why did she always sound like a moron when she talked about anything other than killing vampires?_

_There was little room for compromise in Tara’s expression. How far could she… **should** she push? “I heal fast and you ain’t gotta leave scars with **anything** if ya’ do it right.” Faith might not have a lot of experience with Dominants who gave a damn about their submissives, but she’d been in and out of clubs for years. _

_A hint of indecision flickered across Tara’s face. Ah, hell. Faith didn’t want to hurt Tara or make her do something that brought back memories._

_“Never mind. Ain’t a big deal.” She scribbled a few more things on the paper. “Ropes is good. Think you proved that.” A quick glance showed that Tara was still tense. Fuck. Faith hated that she’d ruined the mood. It wasn’t like she didn’t know Tara hated even the **thought** of whips and shit. “I’m good with toys – ‘cept one I saw in a club supply shop once. Fucker was like a foot long and wider than my wrist. You harness that thing up and I’m runnin’ for the hills.”_

Pushing away from the water, Faith picked up the shampoo. Tara was so different from anyone and anything she was used to. Tara barely rated on the Bitch from Hell scale where most Dominants lived unless Lady Tara zoomed in. Even then, Tara paid attention to Faith’s reactions. And she’d never done anything to Faith that she figured Faith wouldn’t enjoy or that wasn’t supposed to take care of Faith.

_“I want you to go back to school,” Tara said. She narrowed her eyes when Faith grimaced. “That is not a request, my Slayer.” Damn. Lady Tara was in the house. “You need to finish high school. We can negotiate college when the time comes, but education is important.”_

_Faith disagreed; however, Tara was serious as a heart attack. Faith didn’t need a big neon sign to see the “you’ll do what I say” attitude. It wasn’t like Faith could mark school as a hard limit. With a grumble, she wrote that on the paper. “Hellmouth High?”_

_Tara giggled. “I guess that’s a good name for it.” She stroked a hand through Faith’s hair, and Faith nearly melted. God, she loved when Tara did that. “Is there somewhere else?”_

_“Here, I guess.” Better Giles than Watcher Wes. Giles had never offered a private tutoring option, though._

_“Add a note to the contract, sweetie. We’ll talk to Mr. Giles about options.”_

School. Regular workouts with Buffy or another Council-approved instructor. At least three nights a week at the dojo. Tara had made them part of the contract because, as she’d told Faith, Faith wasn’t allowed to get hurt or worse. Training would help prevent that.

The whole contract conversation made Faith realize she might have been wrong about Dominants. Well, about _some_ Dominants. Tara wasn’t out to hurt her or only focused on getting off. Tara cared about Faith as a person. As a _partner_.

She finished her shower and quickly dried off. Her hair would be fine in a sloppy ponytail for now. When she dragged on the workout clothes, sans shoes, Faith sighed. Fuck if she didn’t look twelve. Grinning at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she laughed. Tara hadn’t mentioned anything about Littles in the contract. How would she react to Little Faith at the research meeting?

The thought put a spring in her step as she raced up the stairs to the Library.

“Good morning.” Scott was the only Watcher in the room. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us slacking.” He grinned. “Even super Watchers like Marlee and Rupert need a break. They should be back in about an hour. For a submissive, Rupert can be very scary when he gets all British and uptight about his wakeup call.”

Faith couldn’t have cared less about Giles. “You seen T?” The only person she _did_ care about.

“The witches and Markham are out in the Workroom.” Duh. Faith was an idiot. She didn’t need to ask a Watcher. She grabbed a pillow and set it on the floor by the couch that Tara had used earlier. Then she closed her eyes and reached out through the bond. “ _Got your note,”_ she announced softly.

There was a pause and some weird interference. “ _I didn’t want you to think I’d run away, my Faith.”_ Warmth stroked Faith’s mind and the static settled into a quiet and only moderately annoying buzz. “ _We’re almost finished.”_ Tara was tired. And…worried?

Faith sat up. “Tara?” She forgot to confine the question to the link. Scott glanced her way before going back to his research. _“What’s wrong?”_ If Willow or Janna had given Tara a hard time…

_“Oh, stop.”_ Tara’s mental voice was amused. _“I can handle Willow or Janna. I could even take on Buffy if I had to.”_ Faith would pay to see _that_ showdown. She’d been too distracted that night on the roof of her apartment building to remember much of _that_ Dominant matchup. _“The group is worn out, especially Noreen. We’re pushing her control and her training for this._ ” Faith liked that Tara took care of everyone. _“Can you have someone call for food?”_

_“On it.”_ Faith severed the conversation and bounded to her feet. “Where’s Monica and Drew?”

Scott frowned. “I think Rupert put them up in one of the visiting Watcher rooms.”

There were a few of those. Faith shrugged. She’d knock until she found them. “Be right back.” It took three tries (Marlee had been a riot, all bed head and glowers) before Faith found the right room. Monica answered the door. If _she’d_ been asleep, Faith couldn’t tell. Not a hair out of place and clothes perfectly creased. She would have made the perfect Watcher. Even Giles couldn’t pull off that air of “I’m so perfect”.

“Are you lost? Looking for a handout? Selling Girl Scout cookies?” Monica snapped. “This isn’t an episode of ‘Let’s Make a Deal.’ There are no cars or goats waiting for you to pick a door.”

Damn Monica. Faith gripped her temper with both hands. The Domme pushed her buttons even faster than Buffy. “Can I borrow Drew?” she asked as politely as she could. “The witches’re coming back in and they need more than we got in the kitchen. Figured he could help call the local places and get things set up.”

She’d surprised Monica. Faith relished the way Monica’s Bitch Face relaxed into a smile for half a heartbeat before she recovered. “Princess, your little friend is here. I’m not sure I should let you go. I think she might be a bad influence on you.”

Hell, yes! If Faith had more than a minute to spare after beating the Mayor, she’d turn Drew into a whole new boy. One who’d be happy to tell Monica where to stuff her orders and her attitude.

“Come in,” Monica said. She turned and walked away from the door.

Faith followed but couldn’t resist giving some advice. “Ya’ shouldn’t say that. You got a vamp at the door and you tell it to ‘come in’, you’re gonna be dead or Turned.”

“What?” Monica spun and stared.

“Thought you’d know, but I guess not. This is Sunnydale. We got more vamps than places like LA ‘cause of the Hellmouth. They can’t get in unless you give ‘em permission.” Had Monica slept through that part of Demons 101 they taught in grade school?

Monica frowned. Not her usual Power Domme expression. “I didn’t even think of that. Thanks. Did you hear that, Drew?” It was the first time Faith had heard Monica use Drew’s actual name.

Faith glanced at the rumpled bed. No Drew. “Yes, Mistress. I heard. I’ll be sure to use Faith’s advice when answering the door.” OK. Drew’s voice. No Drew. Where was he hiding?

“Be sure that you do, boy. I won’t be happy if I come home and you’re sporting bite marks that _I_ didn’t give you.” Fully recovered and nasty expression in place, Monica pushed past Faith and yanked open the closet door. Drew lay curled up in in pile of blankets on the floor under the hanging clothes. “Get up. Be useful. Help Faith feed an army. The faster you feed, the faster we can go back to our real lives. My back is broken from the lumpy mattress and you’re so completely worthless that you didn’t pack my favorite flogger or clamps.”

Drew was on the floor. In a _closet_! Faith’s hands curled into fists. Monica was an abusive bitch!

Except Drew clambered to his knees and kissed Monica’s slipper-covered foot with a wide, beaming smile. “I’ll be happy to massage out the kinks, Mistress. It always relaxes you.”

Torn between the need to beat Monica senseless and to gag from Drew’s sappy and self-serving submission, Faith crossed her arms and rocked impatiently on her heels.

“Really? Is that what you think?” Monica twisted one of Drew’s nipples and he squeaked. Faith wanted to cover her eyes – or Drew’s growing erection. Tara was going to owe her big time for this. The next time the magical minions wanted to eat, they could order it themselves. Better yet, Janna could march her happy ass up here and watch the Drew and Monica Show if she needed extra help. “Stop wasting time, little pain slut.” Monica gave the abused nipple another yank.

Drew whimpered as he climbed to his feet. “May I dress, Mistress?”

Faith couldn’t hold back a snort. “’Fraid that thing you’re wavin’ ain’t safe for work.”

Monica’s glare was ruined by the twitch in her lips and the twinkle in her eyes. “Jeans and shirt. I’d hate for you to scare the fearless Slayer with your pathetic cock, princess.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Drew hurried to a drawer and pulled out the permitted clothing. Faith breathed a sigh of relief when he was safely dressed. “Do you require anything else, Mistress?” He stood in front of Monica, head bowed, while she inspected him.

“Not right now, boy.” The hand Monica threaded through his hair was the softest touch Faith had witnessed her give to Drew. Monica’s gentle smile matched the caress. “Go on. I’ll be upstairs in the Library when you’re finished.”

He bowed and then followed Faith from the room. “Do we have a plan for the Mayor yet? Mistress and I didn’t last much after you and Lady Tara left the room.”

“Think so. T’s bringing Markham and the witches back inside.” Faith hadn’t thought to ask Tara for details. It was hard getting used to the bond. “We’ve got food duty for when they get here. I guess magic is like Slayin’. I’ll use the kitchen phone if you want to use the one in the living room. They got separate lines so we can hit more at the same time. Figure we get a lot of everything. Don’t know what the new kids like. Well, except Becky ain’t big on pizza.” She thundered down the stairs with Drew at her heels. There were handfuls of menus in the drawer by the kitchen phone. “If ya’ see something you like or wanna try, order it. The House account number’s written on the menu, but most places already have it. We’re feedin’ an army. Don’t be shy or think you’re ordering too much. You ain’t.” Handing him half the menus and pointing back to the living room, Faith called Uncle Wong’s. It had been too long since she’d had any eggrolls.

It took nearly fifteen minutes to call all the good places. Faith chafed at the delay. She could feel Tara coming back to the house now. Her skin tingled as she reviewed the total with the kid at the DMP and hung up. Drew was still talking in the living room. She piled canned soda and bottles of water onto the biggest tray she could find before trotting in to help Drew. The faster they got done, the faster she could curl up at Tara’s feet.

Drew was on the final call, though. He tossed the cordless phone onto the couch and rubbed his ear. “You didn’t tell me this was hard labor. I have a _phone_ growing out of my head now.”

“Suck it up,” Faith told him. “You’re workin’ with the Council now. Hard work’s part of the deal.” She shoved him (without Slayer strength) toward the stairs. “Hurry up. T’s on her way and I want to be waiting for her.”

His eyes lit up. “You mean, like a real submissive? Did Lady Tara put a spell on you?”

A blush heated Faith’s cheeks, and she ignored the question in favor of taking the stairs four at a time despite the tray in her hands.

Drew sprinted after her. “Come on,” he said between panting breaths. “You can tell me. I’m like the brother you never had.”

That was enough to get Faith laughing. “More like the one I never wanted.” She slowed so he could catch up as they hit the third floor landing. “Ain’t no spell, pretty boy. Just T tellin’ me what she wants. Got it all in writing and everything.” It was strange, exciting, and scary all at once, to talk about the contract.

“Congratulations.” Drew bumped her shoulder. “Having a contract makes it all real, doesn’t it? No more guesswork. You know what she wants and what happens if you don’t do it. Simple. Easy.”

Terrifying. Faith agreed, though. She breezed into the Library. The gang must have smelled the food delivery through the phone lines. Yawns and tired waves greeted their arrival. Faith passed out drinks with Drew’s assistance before curling up on her pillow to wait.

***

Tara had timed their entry well. Faith’s emotions had been a good way to judge when to bring the witches back to the House. She followed the trail of Faith’s thoughts up to the Library, allowing everyone else to enter first. It was worth the wait. A pair of soft brown eyes darted up to meet Tara’s gaze for a second before falling away. A hint of a shy smile showed for an instant. Tara fell in love all over again at the way Faith sat, just as she’d requested, on a pillow. No makeup. No riot of curls. No emotional walls. Only Tara’s Faith, looking young and vulnerable and _submissive_. Tara strode to the couch on a wave of Dominance. “Good girl, my Faith,” she whispered in Faith’s ear. “I’m proud of you for sticking to the contract, sweetie.” Tara sat down on the couch, Faith’s body resting between her parted knees.

Markham and Janna were explaining to the rest of the group about the plan. “We’re almost ready,” Markham summed up. “Tara said that Faith might have an idea about how to lure the Mayor where we will need him to be.”

That was Tara’s cue. “Sweetie, the plan doesn’t work if we can’t get the Mayor to walk into our trap. Is there something that’s important to him? Something he needs? Something we can use?”

She felt Faith’s reluctance through the link. Faith knew the truth about the Mayor now, but she hadn’t always. He’d been a friend and father figure. Tara stroked a finger over Faith’s neck. Waiting. Giving Faith time to make this decision on her own.

“The Books. Think he still needs ‘em to do the Ascension thing. And…” Faith paused and looked up. “B, you still got that Box? Or did Wes ship it out?”

“It’s still in the vault in Giles’ office,” Buffy replied. She shuddered. “Did you know what was in that thing? Creepy spiders. Big, creepy spiders. A million of them. Giles opened it and three of them crawled out.” Buffy wiggled deeper into Xander’s side. “I _hate_ spiders.”

No one laughed. “Maybe we act like we’re sendin’ ‘em to Scotland? Pack them up and haul ‘em to the docks or the airport.” Faith leaned into Tara’s touch, and Tara responded by using both hands to knead her shoulders.

“We have something else he wants,” Tara said, when Faith fell silent. This was going to be controversial. She braced for reactions. “Me.” The muscles under her hands turned to stone. “We’ll get the Box and the Books ready, and Faith and I will take them wherever you think is the best location, Colonel. _That’s_ where we’ll take care of the Mayor.”


	81. Chapter 81

Pressure grew in the link. And grew. Tara waited patiently for Faith to explode. She’d expected it. “You’re fucking crazy!” There is was, right on cue. “No way. You think the Mayor’s comin’ by himself? He’s bringin’ Trick and the army of vamps on the payroll. Not happenin’.” No sign of Faith’s previous ready submission remained. Faith was all angry Slayer on a mission.

Tara remained calm in the face of Faith’s fury. “Do you have a better plan, my Slayer?”

“Yeah, you sit on the fucking couch while me and B and some of the kids do what we’re built for.” Of course, Faith wouldn’t see how putting herself in danger made Tara ready to level Sunnydale to keep it from happening.

“The Mayor doesn’t think Buffy is a threat,” Tara pointed out as reasonably as she could. It wasn’t as if she _wanted_ to use either of them as bait. There were too many chances their plan could fail. Markham had brought many of them to light in the Workroom. But Tara was confident in her ability to keep Faith safe. Safer than even Buffy and a handful of trained Slayers. “You were the one who said he was focused on me. Have you changed your mind?”

Tara sensed Faith about to lie through the bond. “Don’t you dare,” she warned tightly. “Don’t you _dare_ lie about something this important!”

Hurt. Anger. Fear. They roiled through Faith’s mind into Tara’s. She reached out and gently stroked Faith’s cheek. “I know, sweetie. I _know_. But we’ll be together, and you’ll do everything to keep me safe, won’t you?” “ _The way I’ll be there to keep **you** safe._”

“ _What if I ain’t enough?_ ”Faith was definitely not on board with the plan yet. “ _You think of that? B’s way better. Hell, Becky might kick my ass._ ”

Tara lost her grip on her usual kind and gentle nature. Damn Watcher Wes. Damn him for eternity. He’d done this to Faith. Crushed her spirit and destroyed her self-confidence. Tara remembered when Faith had _dripped_ arrogance. Now…now Faith believed a baby Slayer could out-fight her. “ _You’ll be enough, Faith. **We’ll** be enough._”Tara would have to have all the confidence for both of them right now. She pulled out of the bond and glanced around the room.

Everyone was politely pretending to read a book or stare out a window to give Tara and Faith privacy to argue. “Colonel,” Tara said softly, giving the group permission to rejoin the conversation, “before I have to pull rank on my Faith,” that phrase would never grow old (nor would the grumpy expression Faith now sported), “do you think this plan will work?”

Markham’s response was less rousing than she’d hoped. “It’s the best we have.” He smiled wryly at the grumbles from Watchers, Slayers, and witches. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t use it or that it’s guaranteed to fail. Let’s be clear, though. We have next to no intel. We _think_ we know what the Mayor’s endgame is. We _think_ we have a way to destroy him. We have absolutely no idea where he is currently or what type of forces he has. Although, as Faith pointed out, he has a contingent of vampires. Unless, or until, we have more information, I can’t see any other option.”

“Then it is imperative that we strategize for all contingencies.” Giles was at his stuffy best – and then Tara observed the worry in his expression. The poorly-disguised glances at Buffy, Faith…and Tara. He was scared, too.

“Noreen’s done more than enough.” Tara wasn’t pushing the young witch past her limits. “The rest of us could use more practice. Mr. Giles, maybe you could help us pick the right location?”

***

Several hours later, Faith still wasn’t onboard. In fact, Tara thought all their “dress rehearsals” had only made Faith angrier. More worried. And far more vocal.

“I told you to stay the fuck on the couch, but did you listen?” Faith griped. “No! No, you decided to be Super Witch or some shit. You shouldn’t have even been out of fucking bed let alone running around the House pretending to be a ninja.”

Tara allowed Faith to vent. One, because Faith wasn’t entirely wrong. She _had_ done too much on her first official day back on the team. And, two, because she simply didn’t have the energy to summon Lady Tara back. She’d relied on that stronger part of her personality all day. Through a million and one attempts to create, re-create, and test their plan to defeat the Mayor. Everything hurt, from her hair to her toenails.

As if she sensed Tara’s bone-deep exhaustion through the bond, Faith stopped talking. She sidled up next to Tara and very gently wrapped an arm around her back. “Lean on me. We’re almost to the room.” Almost was an understatement. There was still the matter of a flight of stairs. Proving they were definitely in tune, Faith asked, “You want me to carry you?”

Pride was a terrible thing. Tara’s mother had often warned Tara about its evil. “Yes, please,” she muttered.

A little of her disgust at her own weakness faded under the wave of surprised delight in Faith’s mind. “Hang on.” Barely waiting for Tara to stop shuffling through the living room, Faith swept Tara into her arms. “I got ya’.”

Mmm. Yes, she did. Tara marveled at Faith’s strength again before completely debasing herself and cuddling into the embrace. Goddess, this was much better than walking. Her head naturally tucked beneath Faith’s chin, and she _had_ to kiss the tanned skin there.

The arms around her tightened, and she felt Faith’s chest expand on a quick breath.

It was all the encouragement Tara needed. One kiss became two. Then a tiny nibble that caused Faith’s smooth stride to falter on the stairs. Oops. She didn’t want Faith to drop her or fall down. Tara contritely kissed the spot she’d nipped and giggled at Faith’s tiny growl. “Evil witch.”

“Poor Slayer,” Tara murmured with absolutely zero sincerity.

Finally, Faith got to their room, and Tara helpfully reached out to open the door. Faith kicked it closed behind them and set Tara on the bed. “Stay there,” she ordered with a narrow-eyed glare.

Like Tara was going to move? The mattress _called_ to her. Still, it was probably a good idea to re-establish who was in charge. “Excuse me?” Tara was finding it easier and easier to call Lady Tara out to play, at least when she and Faith were alone.

A tide of pink rose from the collar of Faith’s shirt, and she rolled her eyes. “Stay there,” Faith repeated – until Tara upped the ante and raised an eyebrow. That worked. With a dramatic huff, Faith muttered, “Stay there, _please_.”

The reason for Tara’s need to remain in that spot wasn’t apparent. Faith made no move to help her undress. Or to find more baggies of ice. Not even a drink or offer of a pillow fluff. Instead, Faith stood in front of Tara and fidgeted. “Faith?” Tara kept her voice even and casual. She didn’t want to push Faith off whatever ledge she stood on.

“The plan sucks,” Faith finally said.

Maybe. Tara didn’t know what more to say, though. It was the only workable strategy they had. Rather than try a pep talk, she waited for Faith to go on.

It took a few minutes. Faith started and stopped several times. Looked at the floor, the ceiling, the wall behind Tara. What was going on? Tara didn’t reach through the link; she opened it all the way and let Faith’s emotions roll through her. They were no help. They were too complex; they shifted from one heartbeat to the next.

“The plan sucks,” Faith repeated with more heat in her voice. “It sucks and you’re right in the fucking middle of it!” Tara continued to wait Faith out. They’d had this argument; Faith had agreed to use them both as bait. There was…something more bothering Faith. Something Tara wasn’t sure Faith was ready to admit yet. Spinning away, Faith paced the room with quick, agitated strides.

“Have you changed your mind?” Tara didn’t want to _force_ Faith to tell her what was actually bothering her. She couldn’t bear Faith’s anxiety and anger in silence, though. “Did you think of something else we can use to lure the Mayor to the Council’s warehouse?”

A growl answered; Tara assumed the frustrated sound meant “no.”

“Are we playing Twenty Questions?” Tara carefully wiggled back toward the pillows. Getting Faith to open up was taking too long. She needed to lean back and relax. Simply _watching_ Faith made her more tired.

The next growl was impressive. Faith’s hands clenched and unclenched. “What if somethin’ happens? What if Noreen screws up and can’t light the fuse? What if the Mayor don’t burn up? What if Trick’s guys are better than we think?” The questions flowed out in a rush. Once Faith started talking, she didn’t stop. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it. About this stupid plan.”

That much was obvious. Tara held out a hand. “Come here, my Faith. Curl up next to me and tell me…”

Even the lure of her hand wasn’t enough. Rather than take it and cuddle, Faith threw herself onto the bed. Then she knelt next to Tara’s hips. “You always take care of me, ya’ know that? Like you don’t ever need nothin’.”

What could Tara say to that? It was the truth. She hated bothering anyone.

“I want… I need…” Faith shifted and then dropped her head. The pose screamed submission, and Tara would have enjoyed the view if she wasn’t more concerned with discovering the root cause of Faith’s agitation. “I want to take care of _you_ this time. In case…in case this don’t go right with the Mayor.”

Faith was so sweet. Tara smiled, feeling like her cheeks would split from pure happiness. “Thank you, my Slayer.” She started to roll to one side. Her back didn’t really need much care for the motion, but if Faith wanted to check the remaining welts, Tara wouldn’t object.

A warm hand stopped Tara mid-roll and returned her to her original position. “Please,” Faith whispered. Her hands slipped beneath Tara’s shirt. The touch was soft and gentle and clearly not intended to be in any way healing. Tara sucked in a shocked breath, and Faith froze. “Please, T…Tara.”

Meeting Faith’s pleading gaze was unbelievably difficult. “Sweetie.” Tara didn’t know what else to say. She should have known. Should have realized. Faith had been very solicitous since they’d moved back to the House. Always on hand with a quick shoulder rub, with food and drink, with anything Tara might need.

“You don’t understand.” Faith didn’t move her fingers farther. She _did_ slump slightly. “I’ve never met anyone, any _Dominant,_ like you. You don’t ever hurt me because you can.” Tara stopped breathing as Faith’s ramble revealed even more about her closely-guarded past. “You care. About _everyone_ , especially me.” Faith’s disbelief was easy to hear. “But you don’t see how fucking perfect you are.”

Pleasure burst inside. Tara shivered at the warmth of Faith’s emotions in the link.

“Let me show you what I see, Tara. Please.” That soft voice was so hard to resist. Worse than the puppy dog eyes Xander had displayed during the Winter Social. Rather than risk stuttering out a reply, Tara took Faith’s wrist and moved Faith’s hand farther under her shirt. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Tara.” The soft promise was no less intense for the lack of volume. And Tara basked in the tiny smirk and the boast that followed. “I got mad skills.”

Faith’s callused fingers stroked slowly over Tara’s stomach, an odd and wonderful dichotomy. Inch by inch, Tara’s shirt rose. She watched. At first. When the fabric reached the swell of her breasts, though, Tara closed her eyes. Her hands gripped the comforter to keep from dragging Faith’s hands away. From stopping her tender caresses.

“You’re so soft,” Faith murmured. “I like that. Wish my hands weren’t so fucking rough.”

The rough, though, felt so good. Even with her eyes closed, Tara could envision Faith’s hands as they explored her breasts. The ticklish flesh below the lower edge of her aureolae. When Tara shivered in response, Faith went back. Repeated the touch until Tara arched without meaning to. The mattress dipped; knees pressed more firmly into Tara’s side.

“Goddess!” Soft lips replaced the callused fingers. “Faith…” Tara’s right hand released the comforter and flailed for a minute. To stop Faith? To pull her even closer?

Tara never decided as those lips and then a warm, wet tongue swept over her nipple. Tara’s hands dropped to the bed as her hips rose again. Her skin tingled. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy. Tight. Aching…aching for more.

This time, when Tara’s hand came off the bed, she didn’t hesitate. Her hand gripped Faith’s shirt at the shoulder and pulled Faith closer. “ _Right there. Goddess, right there._ ”

Emotion surged through the link. Tara’s embarrassment-laden desire. Faith’s happiness at Tara’s more Dominant actions.

Faith eventually moved away from Tara’s breasts. Tara allowed it, lost in Faith’s touches. In the growing feedback loop between them. There was no way to tell where Tara ended and Faith began. They simply _were_ …together.

Her shirt disappeared. Teeth nipped at unknown pleasure spots at Tara’s pulse point. The tender skin behind Tara’s left ear. A million other places that Tara somehow knew Faith would remember for the next time. She writhed and twisted. The momentary discomfort of the comforter against her bare back barely registered. Pleasure eclipsed pain. The slow glide of Faith’s hands and lips drowned out Tara’s lingering embarrassment.

Nothing, however, covered the flash of fear when Faith’s fingers slipped under the waistband of Tara’s pants and grappled with the button.

Faith froze.

They stared at each other. After a minute, Faith’s hands moved again. Not to shove at Tara’s jeans. She merely wiggled the back of her fingers against Tara’s skin and waited.

For what? Tara struggled to pull her thoughts together. To think around the need still thrumming through her mind and body.

“ _I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you._ ” Faith’s voice was warm through the bond. “ _I’ll only go as far as you want._ ”

The rip of the zipper was loud. Each metallic pop as the teeth separated like a gunshot. Faith stroked over the cotton of Tara’s underwear, not pushing or probing further. Touching. Reassuring. Waiting.

Tara knew what Faith waited for now. Tara was the Dominant. She controlled this interaction whether she _felt_ in control or not. Faith wouldn’t hurt her. Tara believed that all the way to her soul. Breathing fast with anticipation and no little dread, she reached down and gripped Faith’s fingers tightly before guiding their joined hands to the waistband of her jeans. Her hips lifted in silent permission.

Faith’s fingers turned, squeezing for an instant. Then Faith pulled the jeans and underwear free. Down Tara’s legs and off.

She’d been naked in front of Faith twice before. Once the day of their claiming, when she had _chosen_ to display her body to prove a point. The other…the other… Her mind screamed.

“Naked ain’t easy. ‘Specially when the other person’s still got all their clothes on. Makes you feel stupid. Or like they’re better than you.” Faith rolled off the bed. She didn’t glance at Tara once as she somehow balanced on one foot and untied her tennis shoe. She removed the second shoe the same way after switching sides. “I’m not better than you, Tara. No way. No how.”

Faith’s shirt sailed across the room, followed by her bra. A little of Tara’s fear eased. “I shoulda remembered. Used to hate when all them Doms and Dommes made me strip while they watched.” Faith’s eyes darkened, the melted chocolate turning near-black with memory until she shook her head. “Got caught up in how good you felt. Trying to find another hot spot.” Faith’s belt clinked open. Her jeans and underwear dropped to the ground. “Love that sound you make when I hit one of ‘em.” Her grin was cocky even as her eyes examined Tara for her reaction.

Again, Tara knew the next move was hers. Her heart still hammered in her chest. She wasn’t sure of anything else except the knowledge that Faith would never hurt her. Slowly, Tara raised her hand and beckoned Faith back to the bed.

Warm skin brushed her side as Faith lay next to her. Fingers that had once explored with a purpose meandered in random patterns over Tara’s chest and stomach.

It was nice, but Tara missed Faith’s intense concentration and the rising tide of desire they’d shared.

If Tara wanted that back, she would have to ask Faith for it. “T-touch me,” she stuttered. Definitely lacking on the Dominance scale.

Faith didn’t appear to notice. She propped up on her elbow. Her lips and hands returned to Tara’s breasts where she proved she’d been paying attention to every one of Tara’s hot spots. One after the other, Faith hit those spots until Tara forgot all about being naked. Forgot about not having ever been so exposed and wanting. Forgot everything except Faith’s lips and fingers and mad skills.

When Faith slid lower in the bed, moving between Tara’s unconsciously-splayed legs, Tara stiffened. Faith kissed her thigh lightly before taking Tara’s hands, one after the other, and pressing them into Faith’s hair. “ _Only as far as you want. Ever._ ”

Soon, as Faith’s tongue slipped over Tara’s clit and labia, Tara realized she _wanted_ more. She didn’t use her hands to hold Faith in place or push her closer. Faith had offered that option because Tara had been afraid. Tara understood the symbolism of the position, understood just how it played into the Dominance games Faith had been forced to participate in as a child. A game Tara wouldn’t play.

Her fingers stroked lovingly through Faith’s hair as her thighs quivered and her body arched off the bed. “ _Love me, my Slayer._ ”


	82. Chapter 82

Tara woke up alone. She’d expected it; after all, she’d still been awake when Faith had rolled from her embrace and taken up a position in the chair. It still hurt, considering the way Faith had opened up the previous day. The way they’d created a contract. The way Faith had served her last night. Afterward, it had been indescribable for Tara to hold Faith. Well, to sprawl over Faith in a tangle of limbs as Tara shuddered and twitched from lingering pleasure.

Faith hadn’t lied. She had _mad_ skills. Wrapping her arms around a pillow, Tara closed her eyes. There were footsteps in the hall. Low voices. She couldn’t hide here much longer. Today was the day. Time to get rid of the Mayor and move on with life. However, until Faith returned or someone knocked on the door, Tara had no intention of moving.

_“Like I said, you’re beautiful,” Faith said, satisfaction clear in her voice._

_If she hadn’t been gasping and shuddering, Tara **might** have punched her in the arm. She contented herself with a dramatic eye roll instead. Of course she was beautiful: sweaty, flushed, sucking wind like an Olympic sprinter. _

_“And stubborn. You not payin’ attention for the last half-hour? Maybe I gotta show you again.” Faith leaned over, lips headed straight for Tara’s breasts._

_Tara managed to get one arm to cooperate. Her fingers got a partial grip on Faith’s hair. “Stop.” There was zero bite to her command. It was hard to inject the right Command inflection when your voice wavered and then failed partway through the word._

_Faith’s grin was pure mischief. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya’.” She pulled against Tara’s restraint. “Did you want me to suck on your nipples? That what you’re asking?”_

Her nipples tightened at the memory. She moved restlessly, body somehow responding to her thoughts. Goddess.

“ _Nah, it’s just me,_ ” came Faith’s impudent mental comment. “ _But if you think I’m a Goddess, I can live with that._ ”

A laugh broke out, echoing in the empty room. “I wouldn’t go that far, my Slayer, or your head might get so big it exploded.” Tara sat up and stretched, enjoying the faint soreness in new places. “But you do have mad skills.”

A little of Tara’s happiness faded when she sensed the tension in Faith’s emotions. They didn’t have time to play today. Something Faith confirmed. “ _Markham’s making the final arrangements. Brooks and the FBI have the warehouse and the Mayor’s office and house staked out._ ”

No time for play at all. Tara sobered. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right there.”

***

“T’s coming,” Faith told Buffy out loud. She double- and then triple-checked all of her weapons. Daggers in sheaths in both boots. Stakes stuck through loops sewn into the lining of her jacket. Sword belt around her waist with a short sword on the left and a hunting knife on the right. A crossbow sat on the table next to her, bolt already nocked.

Buffy looked ready for battle, too. Knives were strapped to both thighs and dagger hilts poked from under her jacket sleeves. “As soon as she’s here and we get the all-clear from Markham…”

It would be show time. Faith _hated_ this plan. If anything happened to Tara, she’d never forgive Maxie and her fucking brother. Or Markham. Gritting her teeth, she checked her weapons again. Ran through each step of the plan one more time. Despite figuring they were fucked, Faith mentally vowed that nothing would happen to Tara. Faith wouldn’t let it.

She felt Buffy watching her, but the other Slayer didn’t say anything. It had all been said. Hours of arguments, research, and desperate strategy sessions since Markham’s arrival. No one believed this crazy idea would really work; they just couldn’t come up with anything better. Her skin tingled. Tara was nearly there. She had one last chance to convince Tara to stay out of the fight.

Even as Faith turned toward the staircase, she knew she Tara would never agree.

The tiny smile Tara wore as she trotted down the final few stairs said she knew the same thing. “Good morning, Buffy.” “ _My Faith._ ” A warm gentle breeze seemed to blow through the bond. Faith sensed the tension riding behind Tara’s welcome. “I saw Janna and Willow. Noreen and the rest of the witches are in the Workroom. As soon as we leave, they’ll go through the gate Xander installed in the back fence. Colonel Markham has an SUV waiting for them.”

Knowing she couldn’t change Tara’s mind didn’t keep Faith from saying, “I’ll take the shit to the warehouse. You can stay here.”

“I could.” Tara’s cool response sent shivers racing along Faith’s nerves. “I won’t.” Her voice was so soft and gentle and so completely implacable at the same time. “Good morning, Faith.” In the blink of an eye, Tara’s tone change again. Faith’s shivers had nothing to do with cold. “I missed you when I woke up.”

The weapons drew Faith’s attention again. Tara’s gaze settled on her. Faith fiddled with the hunting knife. Tightened the sword belt another notch then loosened it again.

“One day, it will be nice to wake up and be able to do _this_ before we leave the room.” Tara cupped Faith’s chin and raised her head. The kiss started soft but didn’t stay that way for more than a second. The hand on her chin slid down, fingers settling on Faith’s collarbone and thumb nestled in the hollow of her throat. “I missed you when I woke up, my Faith,” she repeated.

Faith bit back a moan and leaned into Tara’s touch. Holy fuck. If this was what Tara liked to do in the morning, she’d glue her fucking ass to that chair and wait however long it took for Tara to wake up. “Sorry,” Faith gasped. “Didn’t know…” She definitely wouldn’t have traded _this_ for sharpening her knives and listening to Buffy and Giles talk strategy.

“You’ll have to make it up to me tomorrow.” Tara kissed Faith again and then pulled away.

A whimper escaped, and Tara smiled at the sound like the bitch Dominant she was. Faith had always (even when she wasn’t ready to admit it) appreciated Tara’s Dominance. It was different now. Tara’s control wrapped around her in warm, welcoming bonds. Tara pushed all the right buttons, and Faith didn’t want to back away. “Be happy to wake ya’ up,” she promised.

Tara’s smile increased slightly. “Don’t let me down.”

No way. No _way_ was Faith sneaking out before Tara woke up again. Her eyes narrowed. “I got it.” It wasn’t about the wakeup call anymore, though, as she continued. “Like I needed another fuckin’ reason to kick the Mayor’s ass. He ain’t gettin’ a hand on you.” No way in hell.

“I never doubted it, sweetie.” Taking Faith’s hand, Tara pulled her close and nestled against Faith’s side. “ _You_ did, though.”

And that meant Tara had done whatever she thought was necessary to reassure Faith. Like always. Faith managed to pull Tara even closer. “ _Glad you don’t just grab a bat and beat me over the head with it until I get your point._ ”

Bubbles of laughter whirled through the bond. “ _Not a bat. I did think about a pillow, though…_ ”

“Heads up, everyone.” Buffy broke their semi-private moment, striding past them toward the front door. “The courier van pulled up out front. Looks like it’s time to move.”

Faith clutched Tara close one last time. “Please,” she whispered even as she knew the answer.

“I love you,” Tara whispered back. She pressed a hard, fast kiss to Faith’s lips and then stepped away. Faith’s skin and mind tingled with a rush of magical energy. Tara was replacing the personal shielding that had been down since Papa Maclay had kidnapped her.

The link went dead.

What? For an instant, Faith panicked. Why would Tara shut her out?

A raised eyebrow and a smirk calmed her. Oh. Right. They couldn’t exactly fight and shit all up in the other’s thoughts. Faith knew that. She’d forgotten. For a minute. She scowled back as Tara’s eyes danced. “B, you ready?”

“Do you want the real answer or the one that Giles made me practice?” Buffy’s grin was all teeth, her expression one that sent vampires running for safety.

“Ah, don’t lie.” Anticipation boiled up despite Faith’s anxiety. This was what she lived for. The fight. Being a Slayer. “You’ll set a bad example for the kiddies.” Becky, Rhonda, and the other three-pack of baby Slayers hovered near the archway leading to the kitchen.

Buffy glanced at them and her expression softened for an instant. The kids were pale and terrified. “I’m more than ready to kick the Mayor’s ass,” Buffy snarled. When she turned back to Faith, she grinned tightly. “You and me get the Box. The kids get the books. Let’s go.”

With a final glance at Tara, Faith bent and grabbed one side of the creepy Box. Buffy took the other. It wasn’t really big enough or heavy enough to require two people, especially two Slayers. Their tag-team effort was designed to get as many Slayers outside as possible. Buffy and Faith led with the Box. Becky and Rhonda followed toting two bags of the Books.

Actually, each bag held _one_ of the Books and then several tomes that Giles had fussed and nearly cried over from the House Library. The Books containing the information Giles and the Watchers thought might truly be useful to the Mayor were still inside the House. Tara walked at Faith’s side. A Dominant keeping her girl company.

The Council courier van sat idling at the curb. The usual delivery driver wasn’t at the wheel. Faith glimpsed the leader of the Retrieval Team in the driver seat. Agent Morris, Briggs’ boss, rode shotgun. Both wore black coveralls with the Council insignia on the breast.

The FBI guy got out and yanked open the sliding door without saying a word. All according to plan. In minutes, the Box and Books were loaded. Faith and Tara settled into uncomfortable seats along the sidewall of the van. “This is Peterson. We’re on the move,” the Retrieval Team leader said. Faith spotted the tiny microphone clipped to his uniform collar.

Peterson drove carefully along the route Markham had chosen. Faith hadn’t understood the importance of which streets they used, but Briggs and Morris had. Something about possible egress and surveillance points.

She stayed alert during the drive. No one spoke, even Tara’s side of the bond was quiet. It was the longest ride of her life. Twenty minutes of mind-numbing, nerve-sizzling boredom. Finally, though, Faith caught site of the small shack guarding the gated entrance to the Sunnydale Docks. Peterson slowed, Council ID in his left hand.

They rolled to a stop at the gate, and Peterson held out a clipboard. “Morning,” he said genially. It set Faith’s teeth on edge. It was the same way he’d talked to _her_ the times his goon squad had dragged her out of a bar or into the punishment room at the House. All schmoozy, like he was just a normal guy talking to a friend. “Pretty quiet today.”

Proving the lacked Faith’s well-developed Bullshit Detector, the guard pushed back his cap and yawned. “You aren’t kidding,” he said, buying Peterson’s “normal guy” routine.” “Don’t think anything but you’ll be moving inside.”

“Sucks to be us,” Peterson said as the guard returned the shipping invoice. “My last run, though. I’m headed home.” With a wave, he put the van into gear and drove beneath the boom arm as it raised.

The docks really were empty. There were a few ships moored at various locations. Metal shipping containers sat stacked at one end of the facility. A handful of trucks and forklifts had been parked near the warehouses. But there were no people. “I ain’t spent much time on the docks except to hunt vamps. This the way it usually is?” The hair on the back of Faith’s neck was up and saluting.

Peterson shook his head. “Even in Sunnydale this is a busy place on a weekday.”

Leaving her seat in the back, Faith partially stood and moved right behind Peterson’s seat. “I don’t feel anything.” No vampires or demons pinged her senses. “Brooks still got this place staked out?”

“Yes.” Morris had a radio clipped to his uniform, too. He keyed the mic. “Brooks? What’s your status?” Despite Peterson driving like an old woman and following the speed limit, they were minutes from the Council warehouse. The van was eerily silent as they waited for Brooks to respond.

She didn’t.

Faith noticed Morris’ hand tighten around the mic. “Brooks! I need a sitrep now!”

The van rolled closer to the warehouse. As Morris’ radio remained quiet, Faith knew their plan was blown. The knowledge settled like a rock in her chest.

A spark of hope sprang to life when the radio finally came to life. It died a quick and painful death. “…trap…don’t…” Faith couldn’t tell if the breathy, pained voice on the radio was Brooks or not. “Tell Manuel…love…”

“Brooks!” Morris shouted into his mic, as if sheer volumne would get Brooks to keep talking.

Peterson slammed on the brakes and the van fishtailed. He grabbed the gearshift, probably to put the van into reverse. Before he could do more than shift out of “Drive,” though, Faith was up and the had side door open. If Brooks was down, maybe dead, then this might be the only shot they had of taking out the Mayor. “T.” She didn’t know what else to say. Or if there was anything _to_ say. “Stay here.”

There was no way Tara would follow that order. She was already getting up.

“Give me a minute to make sure the Mayor ain’t got guys already inside,” Faith explained, hoping to at least slow Tara down long enough to let Faith do a sweep of the warehouse alone. “If it’s clear, we’ll do this the way we practiced.” If the Mayor and Zakicek were already waiting for them, Faith would pay the Mayor’s chief bully boy back for that crap in the club before Tara got there to witness it.

“ _Don’t you dare do anything I wouldn’t like, my Faith,_ ” Tara murmured into Faith’s mind. There was fear backing the thought. Fear and the understanding that Faith had a job to do.

It was enough to make Faith grin for a second, for Tara to smirk in return. Then Faith spun and sprinted for the warehouse. The door to the right of the main garage-style entrance was already open. The reinforced steel door rested against the mangled frame with a bloody boot print painting the dented surface.

An image of Kendra and Wes suddenly obscured the door. Faith shoved it away and yanked her short sword from its sheath. With far more caution than she would have shown a few weeks ago, she eased the door open and slipped inside. It was quiet, the stillness broken by soft, ragged breathing.

The warehouse was spotless. Boxes and shelves marched in neat rows along the walls. In stark contrast, a bloody trail stretched from the doorway to the center of the large space. A body sprawled at the end.

Brooks. “ _Get Morris and Peterson in here now!_ ” Faith kept her guard up as she ran to help the downed agent.

“Faith! It’s …a trap.” Covered in blood and nearly dead yet still stating the obvious. Brooks lifted a hand, grabbing at Faith. “The Mayor was waiting.” Faith took Brooks’ hand, staring at the gashes on her palm and forearm. Probably made by the same knife that had sliced the hole in Brooks’ stomach.

Dropping to her knees, Faith gently held Brooks still. Blood soaked her jeans. Warm. Sticky. The smell cloying.

She stayed there as Brooks’ skin leeched of all color. The agent’s breathing grew so faint even her super hearing barely detected it. She continued to hold Brooks as Tara, Peterson, and Morris ran in. Faith was marginally aware of Peterson snapping orders into his radio.

“Carol, what happened?” Morris knelt on Brooks’ other side. His hands pressed over the wound as if that would stop the blood that still dripped freely to the floor. “Carol!”

Brooks didn’t answer. Faith wasn’t sure she was still alive enough to hear Morris’ frantic questions. As she knelt next to Brooks, Tara crept up next to her. The bond between them vibrated with Tara’s power.

“The ambulance is on the way!” Peterson announced.

For the first time, Faith realized he’d drawn his gun. They were ready for any kind of attack: demonic, magical, or human. Now. When it was too late.

“Faith.” Brooks whisper was nearly inaudible. Faith had to crouch down, head bent over the downed agent. “…Mayor…left a note…” The hand that had once grabbed at Faith now scrabbled at the bloody concrete.

Afraid to touch Brooks, even to hold her still, Faith mumbled an agonized, “Let me look. I’ll find it for you.”

But Brooks didn’t stop until she found a heavy notecard pinned beneath her side. She held it out to Faith in trembling fingers.

The cream-colored note had Faith’s name on the front in elegant handwriting. Drying blood ruined the formal, traditional effect of the handwritten note. Faith opened the card and stared at the Mayor’s message.

_Hello, Faith._

_I’m sorry I won’t be meeting you as I’m sure you hoped. I’ve never been one for surprise parties. In case you’re interested, though, I **am** planning a little gathering of my own. You’re invited of course. Just you. I’ve never been fond of the Council, and I won’t forgive your witch for stealing you away from me. Gifts are a requirement, if you decide to attend. I’m celebrating the most important event of my life. I’m sure you have a few things on hand that I might absolutely love to have. You won’t even need to shop or wrap anything. _

_We’ll be kicking the festivities off at six sharp. Don’t be late._

The note was signed with a flourish, _Richard Wilkins III._

A post-script had been added as a hurried afterthought, the writing less refined and harder to read. _Speaking of gifts, I hope you enjoyed the belated Claiming Day present I had delivered to the warehouse. A little something for you to remember me by._

A gift. Faith glanced from the note in her hand to Brooks. The heavy paper crumpled as her fingers tightened. The Mayor had done this this, had stabbed Brooks and left her for Faith to find. As a warning. A reminder that he somehow still held all the cards.

“Easy, sweetie.” Tara edged closer, pressing along Faith’s shoulder. “Easy. He w-wants you to get mad. To stop th-think-king.”

The fucker was close to getting his wish. All Faith could think about was killing him. Taking her sword or a knife and returning the favor the Mayor had done for Brooks. She dragged the rage back, though, stuffing it deep inside. She’d let it all out later. When she finally found the Mayor.


	83. Chapter 83

“What are we gonna do?” If running after the Mayor in a fit of rage was off the table, Faith was out of ideas. The hand on her shoulder tightened, but Tara didn’t reply. Neither did Peterson or Morris. That left Faith alone with her thoughts. Alone with the smell of blood coating her hands and the sticky warmth soaking through her jeans. Alone with the sound of Brooks’ labored breathing in her ears.

What were they going to do? The Mayor somehow held all the cards. He _always_ held the cards.

Sirens in the distance provided a momentary distraction. “I’ll go wave the ambulance in,” Peterson said. He trotted off, gun still in hand. “Faith, be ready.” He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eyes.

Be ready for what? Faith didn’t put the pieces together until she saw the way Morris turned on his knees and pointed his own gun at the garage door as Peterson unlocked and opened it. They couldn’t be certain that the ambulance wasn’t manned with Zajicek or another of the Mayor’s boys. She grabbed the short sword she’d dropped on the ground and unsheathed a knife before turning to face the door as well.

The ambulance roared up; two uniformed medics jumped out of the back while a third climbed from the driver’s seat. “What have we got?” The driver appeared to be in charge. He and the rest of the medical crew ignored the show of firepower and the blood on their way to Brooks. They were completely focused. None of them carried weapons of their own.

Faith moved out of the way but kept an eye on the trio. They looked legit to her.

Peterson’s walkie crackled. With a final glance at Brooks and the medical team, he gestured at Faith. “There’s a small office in the back. You want to use it? We don’t have much time until the deadline.”

Six o’clock. Less than an hour away. “Yeah. OK.” Why was he asking _her_? Faith wondered. And then she remembered. The Mayor had demanded that Faith come to him alone. With the Books and the Box. “Let’s go. I need to … I need…” What the fuck _did_ she need? A brain, obviously. Faith couldn’t get more than one thought at a time into her head.

“Let’s c-call Buffy and Mr. Giles,” Tara said softly. “They should know what happened to Brooks and maybe they’ll have some ideas on what to do now.”

Just hearing Tara’s quiet recommendation helped Faith feel better. Tara didn’t know what to do, either. That did it; Faith was calling the experts. Perching on the edge of the desk, Faith dialed the desk phone.

“Faith?” Buffy’s voice was distorted and echoed slightly. “I’ve got you on speakerphone. What happened? No one’s been answering the radio and we saw the ambulance go by.”

“The Mayor got here first. Or his boys did. Brooks is down.” Faith relayed what they knew and read the note. “Runnin’ out of time.” And their one plan was a bust. She would have paced the office if it hadn’t been so small and packed with three people.

A new voice joined the conversation. “Faith?” Watcher Dave. “I don’t understand. How does the Mayor expect you to find him? He didn’t say where he’d be.”

No. Faith read the note. There was no location for the Mayor’s lame ass “gathering.” He’d acted like she’d know the right place.

The right place.

“Son of a bitch!” Faith stood and threw the note onto the desk in frustration. “He didn’t have to tell me.” There was only one place he’d go to celebrate his important event. One place the FBI and the Council would never look. “The fucker’s at City Hall.”

“In his office?” It was Giles talking now. “Surely you jest. Agent Morris has had teams of agents watching the Mayor’s Office since they arrived in Sunnydale. The Mayor hasn’t been near City Hall since the night you rescued Tara from her father.”

Teams of agents watching. Like they’d watched _here_. Faith left the office at a run. “Morris!” The agent was standing in the middle of the warehouse, staring at the pool of blood where Brooks had been. The ambulance was gone. So was Brooks. “Hey! Did your guys see anything here? Before we got here?”

He seemed dazed for a second then his expression cleared. “No. Why?”

“Because I think I know why.” And Faith was completely certain she knew where the Mayor would be at six o’clock, too. “Come on. We’re gonna need to figure out what to do now. It’s time Tricky Dick got what’s comin’ to him.” With Morris on her heels, Faith returned to the office. “Is Markham with you, Giles?”

“I am,” Markham answered.

Good. If Faith was going to make her date with the Mayor, they had maybe twenty minutes to find a new plan. By Scooby reckoning, that was plenty of time. “The Mayor’s gonna be at City Hall, but not in his office. Remember that ritual thing? Figure that’s what he meant in the note. Ain’t no way you can see him or Trick’s goons movin’ around.”

“The tunnel.” Buffy had finally caught up with Faith. “How dumb _are_ we? The Mayor’s probably been hiding out below-ground the whole time.”

“That’s what I figure.” Faith traced a finger over the Mayor’s handwriting. “’Cept I think it’s worse. I think he got Brooks the same way. Wanna bet we got tunnels all over SunnyD? Pretty easy to use the sewers, right? Then just add on where ya’ need another tunnel.”

A sigh rushed through the other end of the phone. “And why would we think to ward a warehouse with nothing more than odds and ends inside? The only area we’ve protected is the vault hidden behind the shelving units.” Giles sounded tired and fed up. With the Mayor, the Council, or himself, Faith couldn’t tell. “Be that as it may, how does this knowledge help, Faith? We cannot hazard a guess at the size of the Mayor’s forces, while _our_ numbers have not changed.”

“Guess it don’t help. Not with how to win,” Faith muttered. “Except now I know where to take the Box and Books.” The clock was ticking. They were down to seventeen minutes. “Might be time to charge in with stakes wavin’.”

“This is not a recreation of the _Charge of the Light Brigade.”_ Marham’s voice resonated with confidence and command even over the phone. “Knowing about the tunnels _does_ provide useful intel. We know where he’s going; we know where most of his forces will be; we even know how to get there.” There was a pause and a rustle on the phone. Faith shifted her weight impatiently, relaxing only slightly when Tara sidled up close and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Our strategy is simple.”

Simple? What was _simple_ about any of this? Faith stared at the phone in frustration.

“Faith will have to take the items to the Mayor while the rest of us meet her there using the tunnels,” Markham continued blithely. “It is unexpected and may provide an advantage that a frontal assault lacks.”

Fourteen minutes. Faith had fourteen minutes to explain to Markham why dropping a handful of baby Slayers and half-trained witches into tunnel filled with who-knew-how-many vampires wasn’t a workable plan.

***

“ _I told you lately how fuckin’ stupid this is?_ ” Faith’s mental voice was strained. Anger and fear mixed into a volatile cocktail of emotions.

The swirl of emotions matched Tara’s. She tried to keep that from Faith, however. Two maelstroms whirling through the bond might be more than either of them could handle. Not to mention they both needed to actually focus on surviving the next few minutes. “ _It’s only stupid if it doesn’t work, my Faith. And it **will** work._” Of course it would despite the fact that Faith was correct. It was a stupid plan that relied on sheer luck and the type of magic Tara believed was more dangerous to the practitioner than the intended target.

“We’re ready,” Markham announced amidst a blast of static into Tara’s earpiece. She sucked in a deep breath and relayed the message. “ _The first group is going in,_ ” she told Faith silently. Faith hadn’t been able to wear even a hidden microphone or listening device to her meeting with the Mayor. Communicating with her relied solely on the bond.

A second later, shouts exploded into Tara’s ear. The first group making their way through the vampire-infested tunnels had already run into problems.

The second group, led by Willow and a map of the city sanitation system, was in the sewers hoping to stumble on the tunnel leading into City Hall. Tara had heard nothing from them. Only silence. A horrible silence.

_“The radios may not work in the tunnels,” Markham said over the speakerphone. “Stick to the new plan even if you don’t hear from the other teams. Stick to the plan!”_

“Stick to the plan,” Tara muttered. A plan that left her sitting alone on a bench in the park behind City Hall as the sun dropped lower in the sky. _She_ was alone just as Faith was alone and on her way into the City Hall storage room to face the Mayor and a possible vampire army.

“ _Too late to back out now_.” Faith was so deep in Tara’s mind that one thought bled into another. During the ride from the docks, Tara had reached – and Faith hadn’t run. In fact, she’d _clung_ so tightly Tara thought she could senseFaith breathing. “ _I’m almost there. Can’t feel nothin’. No vamps._ ”

That was good. Maybe. Unless the Mayor was more powerful than they’d thought and he’d somehow shielded the entire area from Faith’s Slayer senses. If he _was_ that powerful… Tara shifted on the bench and shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

Faith responded to Tara’s surging terror. Tara sensed the way her girl shifted the Box in her hands and sucked in a panting breath.

They had to stay focused. “ _Sorry,_ ” Tara apologized. “ _I’m ready_.” As ready as she’d ever be. There was no ward; not a traditional one. No chanting. No invocations. Instead, Tara pulled in every bit of power she found in the area – and held it. It was a little like being trapped inside of an electrical generator.

The increase in magical energy boosted the already-tight bond with Faith. Tara heard and felt Faith as if they they’d opened the storage room door together.

***

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me again.” The Mayor stood inside a circle etched on the ground. Now that she was inside the building, power sparked along Faith’s senses. Not the warm, comforting tingle of the major mojo Tara was planning to unleash. This magic was dark and constricting. Cold then boiling hot. Sweat gathered at her hairline and began an inexorable slide down her forehead toward her eyes. “Put the Box at the edge of the circle. Trick will take the Books.”

Faith hadn’t noticed the vampire. She’d been too focused on the Mayor. Trick lacked his usual edge. He wore no suit, only a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. The crossbow in his hand, though, was a clear indication he wasn’t expecting dinner and a movie.

She took a step forward, skin crawling as Trick followed her movements with the crossbow. This wasn’t going to end well. The Tara Presence in her mind moved protectively closer. Faith tried to wiggle even closer through the bond. Between Tara’s and the Mayor’s magic, the storage room was ready to blow.

A completely inappropriate giggle tickled the link. “ _Um…yes, it is._ ”

Lips twitching in automatic response, Faith took another step. “You want this shit, your boy needs to put the weapon down. Ain’t like I can kick his ass holding all your presents, boss.” The title tasted dirty on her tongue. “I’m right where ya’ want me.”

The Mayor’s smile grew. Not the quirky, charming one Faith had once fallen for. This smile was cruel, calculating, and satisfied.

She wanted to hurl the Box at him. How had Faith ever fallen for his act? Two more short strides brought her to the edge of the circle. “ _You ready, T?_ ” The bag with the Books, slung diagonally across her back, slipped and banged painfully into her hip as she lowered the Box to the ground. “You want the fuckin’ Books, too?” Faith hoped not. Those were still a mixed bag of crap from Giles’ library. Scowling, she unhooked the bag’s strap and tossed those several feet away. As far from Trick as she could. If the Mayor _did_ want them, he’d either have to come out of his magic circle to get them or Trick and his crossbow would have to move farther away from Faith.

Watching her closely, the Mayor stayed in place. “Trick, are you sure Faith is alone?” Ah, Faith was heartbroken. The bastard no longer trusted her. The Mayor thought she’d brough reinforcements.Too bad for him (and maybe her) because she really _was_ alone. No way could the Mayor spot Tara unless he ran up to his office and looked out the window of Faith’s former workspace.

“I told you before,” the vampire snarled, “I don’t sense another Slayer.”

“And I don’t feel the witch.” Faith bristled at the Mayor’s comment. “The witch” was her Dominant. He noticed, of course, and his smile widened. Had he always viewed Tara as a threat? “Not even you, Faith, would be brash enough to actually come alone. The witch is here somewhere. It’s time to stop wasting time. Trick, bring in your friends.”

Trick didn’t immediately follow orders, and Faith stiffened against a need to run. She was the first line of defense. If Buffy and Willow’s teams failed to get here, she was the _only_ defense. Tara’s fury and fear lit her mind while power burned like liquid fire along Faith’s nerves. The Mayor talked too damned much. He needed to step out of the circle and pick up the fucking Box. “Don’t need a witch with me, _Boss_ ,” Faith taunted, hoping to prod him into moving things along. The Mayor wasn’t the only one tired of wasting time. “Shoulda just killed you the last time we were in here.”

He laughed, the sound echoing oddly in the room. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith spotted Trick at the trap door. Damn it! “ _We got trouble_.”

“ _No one’s responding to the radio_.” Tara’s power increased. Faith wondered how the Mayor missed the raging inferno. Even through the link, the magic roared.

The trap door raised. Faith’s stomach cramped and her senses crawled. Vampires. Lots and lots of vampires. One climbed from the tunnel. Another. In ones and twos they scrambled into the storage room. Not even a need to follow Markham’s plan kept Faith from yanking out the stake she’d shoved into her boot sheath. If she was going down, she was taking a fuckload of vamps with her.

She dimly heard the Mayor say something. With her attention diverted, though, she couldn’t make sense of the words. Trick moved. So did his vamps. The first four converged on Faith – and her super-tight connection to Tara wavered. Faith slipped past the first idiot, all arms and legs and lack of coordination. He turned to dust as her stake pierced first his back and then his heart. The other three took more effort and concentration.

Suddenly, the fight and the feel of Tara in her mind merged into an unorganized, static-filled burst.

“ _Buffy’s group…almost here…hold…_ ”

A knife slashed across Faith’s shoulder, thankfully protected by her jacket and her quick reflexes. “Bitch!” the vampire snarled as he drew back and lunged again.

Power surged and diminished, waves of magic ebbing and flowing in Faith’s senses.

Trick and the Mayor huddled together now. Faith saw them, each on one side of the circle etched in the floor. Then she lost sight of them as two more vampires tackled her. One of them landed a breath-stealing blow to her stomach. Pain mixed with panic as Faith gasped and twisted against them.

“ _Faith!_ ” Tara’s mental voice echoed Faith’s panic. She felt Tara slipping away and somehow…reached back. The connection stabilized even as a new cramp of awareness set off her Slayer senses. “ _Where’s the Mayor?_ ”

It took Faith a long second to respond. A second in which she surged to her feet and staked the two vampires pinning her to the ground. There he was! He and Trick were still together, by the Box. Faith grabbed another vampire and heaved him into a group of his friends. “Ready!” she called out.

“ _He has to come out of the Circle_ ,” Tara reminded Faith.

Fucking perfect. Faith charged Trick. She had no idea how to get the Mayor out of his magical circle. Trick was more her speed. He spun, handsome face morphing as his fangs dropped. He stood protectively near the Box – and he was unarmed. Even better. When Faith dusted Trick, the Mayor would have no one to help him. The rest of the vampires were morons. So much dust waiting to litter the floor.

Trick had some surprises, though. He was wicked fast. Faith grunted as he landed a hard uppercut. Damn, that hurt! She tasted blood and felt more drip down her chin. “Hope you enjoyed that,” she snapped, licking at the cut on her lip. “Be the last fuckin’ fun you have.” He was dead. So fucking dead.

They traded blows. Trick was damned good, but…Faith was better. Faster. Stronger. She buzzed with energy. New, different, _awesome_ energy. Energy that carried Tara’s unique feel. It filled her. Trick’s yellow eyes widened, and Faith grinned. Oh, yeah. She rode the power Tara shared, trading a flurry of blows until…she found…her opening. Twirling the stake in her hand, Faith watched Trick’s remains settle on the floor.

“Oops,” she told the Mayor. “Sorry about that.”

The rest of Trick’s army milled uncertainly. Without Trick, they had no one to tell them what to do. And even stupid vampires were bright enough to avoid a Slayer when they had the chance. Faith ignored them. They weren’t here concern anyway. She’d finally recognized the new cramping. Another Slayer was nearby, probably in the tunnel. Buffy or the babies could handle the last of Trick’s crew.

“Think you’re about to lose, Boss.” Faith bent and moved the Box farther from the circle. “Guess you won’t be needin’ this no more.” She deliberately turned her back on him, mocking him. “ _You ready?_ ”

 _“Yes._ ” Faith nearly grinned at the aggressive edge in Tara’s mental voice. Her witch was developing some serious chops. Shy Tara was a thing of the past.

Faith couldn’t see the Mayor now. She kept her senses on high and waited. And watched. One of the vampires stepped in her direction then stopped when Faith raised the hand holding the stake.

Something dragged on the floor behind her. The wild power inside surged higher. Faith gritted her teeth against the heat, like a bad sunburn under her skin. She turned slowly, not wanting to draw the Mayor’s attention.

He had the Box. He was out of the circle. Sort of. One foot sat outside the painted marker. They’d never have a better chance. “ _Tara?_ ” There was no answer, only raw power. Faith screamed. Heard her voice fill storage room.

Heat poured through and around her. Faith _burned_.

No. Not Faith. The _Box_ burned. Faith had seen a roman candle once back in Boston. The bomb Markham had somehow attached to the underside threw sparks. A roar started. The only thing missing was the pop and crack of firecrackers and the Pops performing _Stars and Stripes Forever_.

The temperature inside the storage room matched the fire still burning inside Faith. The Mayor noticed. He reared back; bent to drop the Box. But it was too late. A column of white flame shot up through the Box and caught the Mayor in the chest and face.

His mouth opened. There was no sound, though. No scream. Yet Faith heard it. It rang in her ears. And rang. There was no explosion. Nothing like any bomb she’d seen on television or in the movies. This one simply burned. The Box melted, sagging in the middle with small bits of misshapen metal dropping to the concrete.

It was the Mayor, though, who held Faith’s rapt attention. His face was gone. There was only a gaping hole. A hole.

In less than a minute, there was nothing. Only the lumpy remains of the Box and the Mayor’s smoldering torso.

“Look out!” Faith whipped around at the shout. She’d been so distracted watching the Mayor that she hadn’t notice the Scoobies arrive. Willow was half out of the tunnel while Watcher Dave and Becky battled a horde of vampires. Vampires just like the one about to skewer Faith. She threw herself to the right, deflecting the short sword with her stake. Wood chips flew and Faith swore as the stake slipped from her fingers.

She rolled away as the sword whistled by. Damn! That was close. Everyone else was busy. Vampires outnumbered Watchers and Slayers by at least three to one. Faith managed to scramble to her feet and faced off with her attacker. He grinned, fangs dripping saliva. “Bet that makes findin’ a date hard,” she taunted. “Ain’t no boy or girl dyin’ to be slobbered on.”

The vampire growled and swung the sword. Too bad for him Faith was ready this time. She slipped past him and jabbed a fist into his gut followed by a hard left-hand cross to his face. Bones crunched. As he reeled, Faith nimbly took his sword – and then his head.

She didn’t waste time celebrating. There were too many other vampires and baby Slayers and humans around. Faith waded into the battle. It was rough going. Trick must have recruited the best, rather than the worst. Faith had underestimated their skills. Her arms and legs felt weighted down before she’d even put a dent in the vampire army. Cuts burned and blood dripped down her right arm, her cheek, and her stomach. Bruises, too many to count, ached.

“ _Good thing the cavalry is here._ ” Faith felt Tara brush a kiss through her mind before the link closed up tight. The silence was horrible. Faith might have once hated the bond, but now she missed it after less than a heartbeat. She understood the reason for the block, though, once she heard the chanting.

A quick glance showed Willow, Tara, and Noreen inside the Mayor’s circle. Their voices rose in a language Faith didn’t understand. The circle, painted black on the concrete, turned bright white and a solid ring of light rose from the floor to form a hemisphere over and around the witches.

Suddenly, stakes and swords seemed old school. One by one, the vampires in the storage room burst into flame. In no time at all, only the Good Guys were left. Faith limped toward Tara. The tingle of power kept her outside the circle until the light barrier disappeared. Tara held out a beckoning hand. “Thought you was supposed to stay in the park. Crazy witch.”

Tara giggled and slipped her hand into Faith’s. “Who wears their marker on the left, my Faith? You or me?” A new warmth slid up Faith’s spine. Not from magic this time. From the simple caress of Tara’s fingers.

Faith sucked in a quick breath, lost in Tara’s eyes.

“Did you know there’s a very interesting chapter in that Slayer History book Watcher Wes gave you?” Tara leaned in, lips hovering near Faith’s. So near Faith shuddered as Tara continued talking, voice a husky murmur of sound. “Pages and pages on the physical and psychological effects of battle on Slayers. They even have a special name for it.”

Tara raised their joined hands and nipped Faith’s index finger. Faith whimpered in the back of her throat. “Please…”

The next nip was harder. Faith yelped and then groaned when Tara soothed the scrape with her tongue and lips. “I’m ready to go home, my Faith. Are you ready to go home with me and…celebrate?”

Faith turned her head. Willow’s crew clustered together in one corner. At some point, Buffy’s group had straggled in. “Yo, B!”

A raised hand acknowledged her call.

“We’re outa here.” Faith swung Tara up into her arms. “Hang on, ‘cause this time _I’m_ drivin’.” She grinned as Tara snuggled into the embrace and sprinted for the Council van parked across the street from City Hall.

***

“You said we was goin’ home,” Faith complained. “This ain’t home.”

Tara ignored her, busy looping rope around Faith’s wrists and lowering a hook from the ceiling. “Raise your arms, my Slayer,” Tara ordered softly. When Faith hesitated (deliberately, Tara was sure), she pinned Faith with a steely glare. The Slayer history book had been educational; it had not, though, stressed how much Faith’s post-battle desires would affect _Tara_. The heavy beat of need pushed any doubts or insecurities from Tara’s mind. Only Lady Tara remained, and she grinned evilly as Faith reacted to her expression.

“Are you questioning my decision to come here?” The words slipped coolly from Tara’s lips. Lips that brushed butterfly-soft over Faith’s lips and throat for an instant. “Raise. Your. Arms.”

Faith’s ragged breathing was music to Tara’s ears.

“Faith?” she prodded.

“Uunngh.” With what appeared an involuntary movement, Faith raised her arms. She also thrust her chest at Tara. Her head dropped back, exposing her throat. “Please.”

Reaching for the items she’d removed from the private room’s well-stocked closet, Tara picked up a pair of alligator-style nipple clamps. She used her tongue and teeth until Faith was up on her toes and both nipples were rigid peaks. “Answer my question, Faith. Are you questioning my decision to come to the Club rather than Trish’s house?”

“No…No, Tara,” Faith mumbled.

“Excellent, my Slayer. Now, I want you to hold onto the hook. I won’t tie you. If you let go of the hook, I’ll stop.” Tara waited as Faith’s fingers grappled at the metal hook and chain. When she was sure Faith was ready, she pressed the jaws of the first clamp open and set it over Faith’s right nipple.

The immediate jump and jerk of Faith’s response set fire to Tara’s veins. Pressure and heat built in the link. Faith’s hands gripped the hook so tightly that white showed at the knuckles as Tara carefully adjusted the tension on the clamp. Faith’s body vibrated. A flush painted her skin from hairline to the tops of her breasts. A flush that deepened when Tara fastened the other clamp.

Tara dropped to her knees. The cuffed ends of a spreader bar closed around each of Faith’s ankles. She set the bar to its widest length, wanting to enhance Faith’s vulnerability. Then, finally ready for her endgame, Tara separated Faith’s labia with her fingers and licked through the drenched folds. “Don’t let go,” she warned. She picked up her final tool, flicked a switch, and let Faith hear the warning buzz of the Magic Wand for several seconds before placing the mushroom head directly over Faith’s clit.

Faith’s shout filled the room, and the roar of Faith’s orgasm (the first of many, Tara planned) rumbled through the bond. “I love you,” Tara said softly.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thanks to my Super Beta Lilly. She’s manage to keep me and the Muse mostly on track for yet another fic. And, if I’m honest, she should really get “co-author” billing for several critical scenes in Forging Bonds and Broken Bonds. 
> 
> This fic didn’t end where I’d planned. In fact, I have several snippets of scenes that bridge the ending with the beginning of Forging Bonds or are glimpses into Faith and Tara’s continuing growth as a couple. I plan to write those scenes as additional stand-alone fics in the Bondsverse…but give me a few months. January 2016, at least. I’ve promised myself and some long-time readers a return to Thanksgiving Wish and Sacrifice first
> 
> I'll also be dismantling my personal website over the next month or so and archiving all of my fics here. Be patient. It won't be a quick process :)


End file.
